
Qass. 
Book. 




TELL HIM T.. ASIC FOR MRS. WII.LOUGHBY HAWKINS 



THE BICYCLERS 



AND THREE OTHER FARCES 



BY 



/ 



JOHN KENDRICK BANGS 



ILLUSTRATED 




NEW YORK 
HARPER & BROTHERS PUBLISHERS 

1896 



i-9 







By JOHN KENDRICK BANGS. 



A House-Boat on the Styx. Illustrated. i6nio, 
Cloth, $1 25. 

Mr. Bonaparte of Corsica. Illustrated. i6mo, 
Cloth, ^i 25. f 

The Idiot. Illustrated. i6mo, Cloth, $1 00. 
The Water Ghost, and Others. Illustrated. 
i6mo, Cloth, $1 25. 

Coffee and Repartee. Illustrated. 32010, Cloth, 
50 cents. 

Three Weeks in Politics. Illustrated. 321110, 
Cloth, 50 cents. 

ipwBLlSHED BY HARPER#& BROTHERS, NEW YoKK ! 






Copyinght, 1896, by Harper & Brothers. 



Dramatic copyright secured. 



CONTENTS 



PAGE 

THE BICYCLERS I 

A DRAMATIC EVENING 41 

THE FATAL MESSAGE 85 

A PROPOSAL UNDER DIFFICULTIES . . 126 



ILLUSTRATIONS 



PAGE 
"'TELL HIM TO ASK FOR MRS. WILLOUGHBY 

HAWKINS'" Frontispiece 

"THOSE ODIOUS PSYCHE KNOTS " 3 i^ 

"' MY ELDEST ?' " ^/ 

THE KI-YI GUN 9 •, 

ENTER BARLOW AND YARDSLEY 13 -^ 

' ' HAVE YOU A SHAWL- STRAP IN THE HOUSE?' " 21 

' ' WHERE ? THE POLICE-STATION !' " , facing 24 ■ 

' ' MISSUS WILLERBY 'AWKINS ' " 32 w 

'' POOR, DEAR EDWARD '"' 35- 

'" KINDLY PRETEND I'M A SHAWL '" ... 39 

' ' glad to see me ?' " 45 - 

* ' I'll be glad to if you'll carry the soft 

pedal'" 53 

' ' YOU see, we put the TUB HERE ' ". . . 61 

' ' IT WOULD BE AWKWARD ' " 65 

* 'this HAS SOMETHING TO DO WITH IT' ", fucitig 78 



viii Illustrations 

PAGE 

"'he's been there three hours now'" . 83 

"'DIVINE creature'" I29 

"'I'll time you'" 135. 

"'START AT once'" I36 

"'charming, isn't it?'" 148- 

"' what's UP, ANYHOW ?' " 152 

"'PST!'" facmg 158 

"' WHY, JENNIE !' " 162 

HICKS 175 V 



THE BICYCLERS 
AND THREE OTHER FARCES 



THE BICYCLERS 



Characters : 
Mr. Robert Yardst^ey, an expert. 
Mr. Jack Barlow, cMiotlur. 
Mr. ThaddeuS Perkins, a beginner. 
Mr. Edward Bradley, a scoffer. 
Mrs. Thaddeus Perkins, a resistant. 
Mrs. Edward Bradley, an enthusiast. 
Jennie, a maid. 

The scene is laid in the drawing-room of M.x. 
and Mrs. Thaddeus Perkins, «/ No. — Cram- 
er cy Square. It is late October ; the action 
begins at 8.30 o'clock on a moonlight evening. 
The curtain rising discloses Mr. and Mrs. 
Perkins sitting together. At right is large 
window facing on square. At rear is en- 
trance to drawing - room. Leaning against 
doorway is a safety bicycle. Perkins is clad 
in bicycle garb. 

Perkins. Well, Bess, I'm in for it now, 
and no mistake. Bob and Jack are coming 
to-night to give me my first lesson in biking. 



2 The Bicyclers 

Mrs. Perkins. I'm very glad of it, Thad- 
deus. I think it will do you a world of good. 
You've been working too hard of late, and 
you need relaxation. 

Perkins {doubtfully). I know that — but — 
from what I can gather, learning to ride a 
wheel isn't the most restful thing in the 
world. There's a good deal of lying down 
about it ; but it comes with too great sud- 
denness ; that is, so Charlie Cheeseborough 
says. He learned up at the Academy, and 
he told me that he spent most of his time 
making dents in the floor with his head. 

Mrs. Perkins. Well, I heard differently. 
Emma Bradley learned there at the same 
time he did, and she said he spent most of 
his time making dents in the floor with other 
peopJe's heads. Why, really, he drove all the 
ladies to wearing those odious Psyche knots. 
The time he ran into Emma, if she hadn't 
worn her back hair that way she'd have fract- 
ured her skull. 

Perkins. Ha, ha ! They all tell the same 
story. Barlow said he always wore a beaver 
hat while Cheeseborough was on the floor, so 



The Bicyclers 3 

that if Charlie ran into him and he took a 
header his brain wouldn't suffer. 

Afrs. Perkins. Nevertheless, Mr. Cheese- 
borough learned more quickly than any one 
else in the class. 




THOSE ODIOUS PSYCHE KNOTS 



Perkins. So Barlow said — because he wasn't 
eternally in his own way, as he was in every 
one else's, i^A ring is heard at tJie front door.) 
Ah ! I guess that's Bob and Jack. 



4 The Bicyclers 

Enter Jennie. 

Jennie. Mr. Bradley, ma'am. 

Perkins. Bradley.^ Wonder what the deuce 
he's come for } He'll guy the life out of me. 
{Enter Bradley. He wears a dmner coat.) 
Ah, Brad, old chap, how are you .^ Glad to 
see you. 

Bradley. Good-evening, Mrs. Perkins. This 
your eldest ? [ IVit/i a nod at Perkins. 

Mrs. Perkins. My eldest } 

Bradley. Yes — judged from his togs it was 
your boy. What ! Can it be } You ! Thad- 
deus } 

Perkins. That's who I am. 

Bradley. When did you go into short trou- 
sers } 

Perkins {with a feeble laugh, glaftcing at 
his clothes). Oh, these— ha, ha! I'm taking 
up the bicycle. Even if it weren't for the ex- 
hilaration of riding, it's a luxury to wear these 
clothes. Old flannel shirt, old coat, old pair 
of trousers shortened to the knee, and golf 
stockings. I've had these golf stockings two 
years, and never had a chance to wear 'em till 
now. 





MY ELDEST?' 



The Bicyclers 7 

Bradley. You've got it bad, haven't you ? 
How many lessons have you had ? 

Perki?i5. None yet. Fact is, just got my 
wheel— that's it over there by the door — 
pneumatic tires, tool-chest, cyclometer, lamp 
— all for a hun. 

Bradley {with a laitgJi). How about life- 
insurance? Do they throw in a policy for 
that ? They ought to. 

Perkins. No — but they would if I'd insisted. 
Competition between makers is so great, 
they'll give you most anything to induce a 
bargain. The only thing they really gave me 
extra is the ki-yi gun. 

Mrs, Perkins. The what ? 

Perkins. Ki-yi gun — it shoots dogs. Dog 
comes out, catches sight of your leg — 

Bradley. Mistakes it for a bone and grabs — 
eh.? 

Perkins. Well — I fancy that's about the size 
of it. You can't very well get off, so you get 
out your ki-yi gun and shoot ammonia into 
the beast's face. It doesn't hurt the dog, but 
it gives him something to think of. I'll show 
you how the thing works. {Gets the gtm from 



8 The Bicyclers 

tool -box) This is the deadly weapon, and 
I'm the rider — see? {Sits on a chair, with 
face to back, and works iinaginary pedals) 
You're the dog. I'm passing the farm-yard. 
Bow-wow ! out you spring — grab me by the 
bone — I — ah — I mean the leg. Pouf ! I shoot 
you with ammonia. [Suits action to the word. 
Bradley {starting back). Hi, hold on ! Don't 
squirt that infernal stuff at me ! My dear 
boy, get a grip on yourself. I'm not really a 
ki-yi, and while I don't like bicyclists, their 
bones are safe from me. I won't bite you. 

Mrs. Perkins. Really — I think that's a very 
ingenious arrangement ; don't you, Mr. Brad- 
ley .? 

Bradley. I do, indeed. But, as long as 
we're talking about it, I must say I think 
what Thaddeus really needs is a motorman- 
gun, to squirt ammonia, or even beer, into the 
faces of these cable-car fellows. They're more 
likely to interfere with him than dogs — don't 
you think? 

Perkins. It's a first-rate idea, Brad. I'll 
suggest it to my agent. 
Bradley. Your what ? 



The Bicyclers 9 

Perkins {apologetically). Well, I call him 
my agent, although really I've only bought 
this one wheel from him. He represents the 
Czar Manufacturing Company. 

Bradley. They make Czars, do they.^ 




THE KI-YI GUN 



Perkins {with dignity). They make wheels. 
The man who owns the company is named 
Czar. I refer to him as my agent, because 
from the moment he learned I thought of 
buying a wheel he came and lived with me. 
I couldn't get rid of him, and finally in self- 



lo The Bicyclers 

defence I bought this wheel. It was the only 
way I could get rid of him. 

Bradley. Aha! That's the milk in the 
cocoanut. eh ? Hadn't force of mind to get 
rid of the agent. Couldn't say no. Humph ! 
I wondered why you, a man of sense, a man of 
dignity, a gentleman, should take up with 

this— 

Perkins {angrily). See here, Brad, I like 
you very much, but I must say— 

Mrs. Perkins {foreseeing a quarrel). Thad- 
deus! 'Sh! Ah, by -the -way, Mr. Bradley, 
where is Emma this evening? I never knew 
you to be separated before. 

Bradley {sorrowfully). This is the first time, 
Mrs. Perkins. Fact is, we'd intended calling 
on you to-night, and I dressed as you see me. 
Emma was in proper garb too, but when she 
saw what a beautiful night it was, she told 
me to go ahead, and she- By Jove ! it al- 
most makes me weep ! 

Perkins. She wasn't taken ill ? 
Bradley. No— worse. She said : " You go 
down on the ' L.' I'll bike. It's such a splen- 
did night." Fine piece of business this ! To 



The Bicyclers 1 1 

have a bicycle come between man and wife is 
a pretty hard fate, I think— for the one who 
doesn't ride. 

Mrs. Perkins. Then Emma is coming here? 

Bradley. That's the idea, on her wheel — 
coming down the Boulevard, across Seventy- 
second Street, through the Park, down Mad- 
ison, across Twenty-third, down Fourth to 
Twenty-first, then here. 

Perkins. Bully ride that. 

Mrs. Perkins. Alone } 

Bradley {sadly). I hope so— but these bicy- 
clists have a way of flocking together. For 
all I know, my beloved Emma may now be 
coasting down Murray Hill escorted by some 
bicycle club from Jersey City. 

Mrs. Perkins. Oh dear— Mr. Bradley ! 

Bradley. Oh, it's all right, I assure you, Mrs. 
Perkins. Perfectly right and proper. It's 
merely part of the exercise, don't you know. 
There's a hail-fellow-well-metness about en- 
thusiastic bicyclists, and Emma is intensely 
enthusiastic. It gives her a chance, you 
know, and Emma has always wanted a chance. 
Independence is a thing she's been after ever 



12 The Bicyclers 

since she got her freedom, and now, thanks to 
the wheel, she's got it again, and even I must 
admit it's harmless. Funny she doesn't get 
here though {looking at his watch); she's had 
time to come down twice. 

{^Bicycle bells are heard ringing without. 

Mrs. Perkins. Maybe that is she now. Go 
and see, will you, Thaddeus? {Exit Perkins. 

Perkins (without). That you, Mrs. Bradley? 
[Mrs. Perkins and Bradley listen intently. 

Two Male Voices. No; it's us, Perk. Got 
your wheel } 

Bradley and Mrs. Perki7is. Where can she 
be.? 

Enter Perkins with Barlow and Yardsley. 
They both greet Mrs. Perkins. 

Yardsley. Hullo, Brad ! You going to have 
a lesson too ? 

Barlow. Dressed for it, aren't you, by Jove ! 
Nothing like a dinner coat for a bicycle 
ride. Your coat-tails don't catch in the 
gear. 

Bradley {severely). I haven't taken it up — 
fact is, I don't care for fads. Have you seen 
my wife ? 




ENTER BARLOW AND YARDSLEV 



The Bicyclers 15 

Yardsley. Yes — saw her the other night at 
the academy. Rides mighty well, too, Brad. 
Don't wonder you don't take it up. Contrast, 
you know — eh, Perk .^ Fearful thing for a 
man to have the world see how much smarter 
his wife is than he is. 

Perkins {turning to his wheel). Bradley's a 
little worried about the non-arrival of Mrs. 
Bradley. She was coming here on her wheel, 
and started about the same time he did. 

Barlow. Oh, that's all right, Ned. She 
knows her wheel as well as you know your 
business. Can't come down quite as fast as 
the " L," particularly these nights just before 
election. She may have fallen in with some 
political parade, and is waiting to get across 
the street. 

Bradley {aside). Well, I like that ! 

Mrs. Perkins {aside). Why — it's awful ! 
Yardsley. Or she may possibly have punc- 
ured her tire — that would delay her fifteen or 
twenty minutes. Don't worry, my dear boy. 
I showed her how to fix a punctured tire all 
right. It's simple enough — you take the rub- 
ber thing they give you and fasten it in that 



i6 The Bicyclers 

metal thingumbob, glue it up, poke it in, pull 
it out, pump her up, and there you are. 

Bradley {scornfully). You told her that, did 
you? 

Yardsley. I did. 

Bradley (with a mock sigh of relief). You 
don't know what a load you've taken off my 
mind. 

Barlow (looking at his watch). H'm ! Thad- 

deus, it's nine o'clock. I move we go out and 

have the lesson. Eh? The moon is just right. 

Yardsley. Yes — we can't begin too soon. 

Wheel all right ? 

Perkins. Guess so— I'm ready. 
Bradley. I'll go out to the corner and see if 
there's any sign of Mrs. Bradley. \.Exit. 

Mrs. Perkins (who has been gazing out of win- 
dow for some moments). I do wish Emma would 
come. I can't understand how women can do 
these things. Riding down here all alone at 
night ! It is perfectly ridiculous ! 

Yardsley (rolling Perkins's wheel into mid- 
dle of room). Czar wheel, eh ? 

Perkins (meekly). Yes -best going— they tell 



The Bicyclers 17 

Barlow. Can't compare with the Alberta. 
Has a way of going to pieces Hke the " one- 
hoss shay " — eh, Bob ? 

Yardsley. Exactly — when you least expect 
it, too — though the Alberta isn't much better. 
You get coasting on either of 'em, and half- 
way down, bang! the front wheel collapses, 
hind wheel fiies up and hits you in the neck, 
handle-bar turns just in time to stab you in 
the chest; and there you are, miles from home, 
a physical, moral, bicycle wreck. But the 
Arena wheel is difTerent. In fact, I may say 
that the only safe wheel is the Arena. That's 
the one I ride. However, at fifty dollars this 
one isn't extravagant. 

Perkins. I paid a hundred. 

Yardsley. A wha — a — at } 

Perkins. Hundred. 

Barlow. Well you are a — a — good fellow. 
It's a pretty wheel, anyhow. Eh, Bob .^ 

Yardsley. Simple beauty. Is she pumped 
up? 

Perkins. Beg your pardon ? 

Yardsley. Pumped up, tires full and tight 
— ready for action — support an elephant } 



i8 The Bicyclers 

Perkins. Guess so— my— I mean, the agent 
said it was perfect. 

Yardsley. Extra nuts ? 

Perkins. What? 

Yardsley. Extra nuts — nuts extra. Sup- 
pose you lose a nut, and your pedal comes off; 
what you going to do — get a tow ? 

Barlow. Guess Perkins thinks this is like 
going to sleep. 

Perkins. I don't know anything about it. 
What I'm after is information ; only, I give 
you warning, I will not ride so as to get round 
shoulders. 

Yardsley. Then where's your wrench } 
Screw up your bar, hoist your handles, ele- 
vate your saddle, and you're O.K. What 
saddle have you ? 

Perkins {tapping it). This. 

Barlow. Humph ! Not very good — but we'll 
try it. Come on. It's getting late. 

[ They go out. Perkins rehcctaiitly. In a 
moment he returns alone, and, rushing to 
Mrs. Perkins, kisses her affectiottately. 

Perkins. Good-bye, dearest. 

Mrs. Perkins. Good-bye. Don't hurt your- 
self, Thaddeus. Y^xit Perkins. 



The Bicyclers 19 

Mrs. Perkins {leaving window and looking 
at clock on mantel). Ten minutes past nine 
and Emma not here yet. It does seem too 
bad that she should worry Ed so much just 
for independence' sake. I am quite sure I 
should never want to ride a wheel anyhow, 
and even if I did — 

Enter Yardsley hurriedly, with a piece of 
flannel in his hand. 

Yardsley. I beg pardon, Mrs. Perkins, but 
have you a shawl-strap in the house } 

Mrs. Ferkijis {tragically). What is that you 
have in your hand, Mr. Yardsley.? 

Yardsley {with a glance at the piece of flan- 
nel). That.? Oh— ha-ha— that— that's a— ah 
— a piece of flannel. 

Mrs. Perkijis {snatching the flajmel fro?n 
Yardsley 's hand). But Teddy — isn't that a 
piece of Teddy's — Teddy's shirt.? 

Yardsley. More than that, Mrs. Perkins. 
It's the greater part of Teddy's shirt. That's 
why we want the shawl-strap. When we 
started him off, you know, he took his coat 
off. Jack held on to the wheel, and I took 
Teddy in the fulness of his shirt. One — two 



20 The Bicyclers 

— three ! Teddy put on steam — Barlow let go 
— Teddy went off — I held on — this is what re- 
mained. It ruined the shirt, but Teddy is 
safe. {Aside.) Barring about sixty or seventy 
bruises. 

Airs. Perkins {with a faint senile). And the 
shawl-strap } 

Yardsley. I want to fasten it around Ted- 
dy's waist, grab hold of the handle, and so 
hold him up. He's all right, so don't you 
worry. {Exit Mrs. Perkins in search of shawl- 
strap?^ Guess I 'd better not say anything about 
the Pond's Extract he told me to bring — 
doesn't need it, anyhow. Man's got to get 
used to leaving pieces of his ankle-bone on 
t,he curb-stone if he wants to learn to ride 
a wheel. Only worry her if I asked her for it 
— won't hurt him to suffer a week. 
Enter Bradley. 

Bradley. Has she come yet ? 

Yardsley. No — just gone up-stairs for a 
shawl-strap. 

Bradley. Shawl-strap.^ Who? 

Perkins{outside). Hurry up with that Pond's 
Extract, will you .'* 




HAVE YOU A SHAWL-STRAP IN THE HOUSE?' 



The Bicyclers 2^ 

Yardsley. All right — coming. Who? Who 
what? 

Bradley. Who has gone up-stairs after shawl- 
strap — my wife ? 

Yardsley. No, no, no. Hasn't she got here 
yet? It's Mrs. Perkins. Perk fell of? just 
now and broke in two. We want to fasten 
him together. 

Barlozu {outside). Bring out that pump. 
His wheel's flabby. 

Enter Mrs. Perkins with s/iawl-strap. 

Mrs. Perkins. Here it is. What did I hear 
about Pond's Extract? Didn't somebody call 
for it ? 

Yardsley. No — oh no — not a bit of it! 
What you heard was shawl-strap — sounds like 
extract — very much like it. In fact— 

Bradley. But you did say you wanted — 

Yardsley {aside to Bradley). Shut up! 
Thaddeus banged his ankle, but he'll get 
over it in a minute. She'd only worry. The 
best bicyclers in the world are all the time 
falling off, taking headers, and banging their 
ankles. 

Bradley. Poor Emma ! 



24 The Bicyclers 

Ento' Barlow. 

Barlow. Where the deuce is that Ex — 
Yardsley {grasping him by the arm a7id 
pushitig him out). Here it is; this is the ex- 
strap, just what we wanted. {Aside to Bradley.) 
Go down to the drug-store and get a bottle 
of Pond's, will you } [Exit. 

Mrs. Perkins {walking to wi?tdow). She 
can't be long in coming now. 

Bradley. I guess I'll go out to the corner 
again. {Aside.) Best bicyclers always smash- 
ing ankles, falling off, taking headers ! If I 
ever get hold of Emma again, I'll see whether 
she'll ride that — [Rushes out. 

Mrs. Perkins. It seems to have made these 
men crazy. I never saw such strange behav- 
ior in all my Hfe. {The telephone-bell rings^ 
What can that be ? {Goes to 'pho?ie, which 
statids just outside parlor door.) Hello ! 
What } Yes, this is i i8i — yes. Who are you } 
What? Emma.^ Oh dear, I'm so glad ! Are 
you alive ? Where are you } What.^ Where? 
The police-statio7t ! { Turning from telephone.) 
Thaddeus, Mr. Barlow, Mr. Yardsley. {Into 
telephone) Hello ! What for } What ? Rid- 




lERR? THE POLICE STATION'.' 



The Bicyclers 25 

ing without a lamp ! Arrested at Forty-sec- 
ond Street ! Want to be bailed out ? {Dt^ops 
receiver. Rushes into parlor a?id throws herself 
on sofa.) To think of it — Emma Bradley! 
{Telephone -bell' rings violently again; Mrs. 
Perkins goes to it.) Hello ! Yes. Tell Ed 
what? To ask for Mrs. Willoughby Haw^- 
kins. Who's she .? V^hdX, you f {Drops the 
receiver ; runs to window?) Thaddeus ! Mr. 
Yardsley! Mr. Barlow! — all of you come here, 
quick. 

YThey rush in. Perkins with shawl-strap 
about his waist — limping. Barlow has 
large air-pump in his hand. Mrs. Per- 
kins grows faint. 
Perkins. Great heavens ! What's the mat- 
ter.? 

Barlow. Get some water — quick ! 

[Yardsley runs for water. 
Mrs. Perkins. Air ! Give me air ! 
Perkitts {grabbing pump from Barlow's 
hand). Don't stand there like an idiot ! Act! 
She wants air ! 

{f laces pump on floor and begijis to pump 
air at her. 



2b The Bicyclers 

Barlow. Who's the idiot now? Wheel her 
over to the window. She's not a bicycle. 

S^They do so. Mrs. Perkins revives. 

Perkins. What is the matter.^ 

Mrs. Perkins. Mrs. Willoughby Hawkins — 
arrested — Forty-second Street — no lamp — 
bailed out. Oh, dear me, dear me ! It 'II all 
be in the papers ! 

Perkins. What's that got to do with us ? 
Who's Mrs. Willoughby Hawkins } 

Mrs. Perkins. Emma ! Assumed name. 

Barlow. Good Lord ! Mrs. Bradley in jail } 

Perkins. This is a nice piece of — ow — my 
ankle, my ankle ! 

{Enter Bradley and Yardsley at same time, 
Bradley with bottle of Pond's Extract , 
Yardsley with glass of water. 

Bradley. Where the deuce did you fellows 
go to? I've been wandering all over the 
square looking for you. 

Perkins. Your wife — 

Bradley {dropping bottle). What? What 
about her — hurt ? 

Mrs. Perkins. Worse ! \_Sobs. 

Bradley. Killed? 



The Bicyclers 27 

Airs. Perkins. Worse — 1-lol-locked up — in 
jail — no bail — wants to be lamped out. 

Bradley. Great heavens ! Where ? — when ? 
What next ? Where's my hat ? — what'll the 
baby say ? I must go to her at once. 

Yardsley. Hold- on, old man. Let me go 
up. You're too excited. I know the police 
captain. You stay here, and I'll run up and 
fix it with him. If you go, he'll find out who 
Mrs. Hawkins is; you'll get mad, and things 
will be worse than ever. 

Bradley. But— 

Barlow. No buts, my dear boy. You just 
stay where you are. Yardsley's right. It 
would be an awful grind on you if this ever 
became known. Bob can fix it up in two 
minutes with the captain, and Mrs. Bradley 
can come right back with him. Besides, he 
can get there in five minutes on his wheel. 
It will take you twenty on the cars. 

Yardsley. Precisely. Meanwhile, Brad, you'd 
better learn to ride the wheel, so that Mrs. 
B. won't have to ride alone. This ought to 
be a lesson to you. 

Perkins. Bully idea (rubbing his ankle). You 



28 The Bicyclers 

can use my wheel to-night — I — I think I've 
had enough for the present. {Aside.) The 
pavements aren't soft enough for me ; and, 
O Lord ! what a stony curb that was ! 

Bradley. I never thought I'd get so low. 

Yardsley. Well, it seems to me that a man 
with a wife in jail needn't be too stuck up to 
ride a bicycle. But — by-by — I'm off. [Exit. 

Mrs. Perkms. Poor Emma — out for free- 
dom, and lands in jail. What horrid things 
policemen are, to arrest a woman ! 

Bradley {mdignajitly). Served her right ! 
If women won't obey the law they ought to 
be arrested, the same as men. If she wasn't 
my wife, I'd like to see her sent up for ten 
years or even twenty years. Women have 
got no business — 

Barlow. Don't get mad, Brad. If you knew 
the fascination of the wheel you wouldn't 
blame her a bit. 

Bradley {calming down). Well — I suppose 
it has some fascination. 

Perkins {anxious to escape further lessofis). 
Oh, indeed, it's a most exhilarating sensation : 
you seem to be flying like a bird over the high- 



The Bicyclers 29 

ways. Try it, Ned. Go on, right away. You 
don't know how that little ride I had braced 
me up. 

Barlow {with a lattgh). There ! Hear that ! 
There's a man who's ridden only eight inches 
in all his life — and he says he felt like a 
bird! 

Perkms {aside). Yes — like a spring chicken 
split open for broiling. Next time I ride a 
wheel it '11 be four wheels, with a horse fast- 
ened in front. Oh my ! oh my ! I believe 
I've broken my back too. \Lies down. 

Bradley. You seem to be exhilarated, 
Thaddeus. 

Perkins {bracing up). Oh, I am, I am. Nev- 
er felt worse — that is, better. 

Barlow. Come on. Brad. I'll show you the 
trick in two jiffies — it '11 relieve your worry 
about madam, too. 

Bradley. Very well — I suppose there's no 
way out of it. Only let me know as soon 
as Emma arrives, will you ? 

Mrs. Perkins. Yes — we will. 

{They go out. As they disappear through 
the door Thaddeus ^r^tj;;^j aloud. 



30 The Bicyclers 

Mrs. Perkins. Why — what is the matter, 
dear ? Are you hurt ? 

Perkins. Oh no — not at all, my love. I was 
only thinking of Mr. Jarley's indignation to- 
morrow when he sees the hole I made in his 
curb-stone with my ankle — oh ! — ow ! — and as 
for my back, while I don't think the whole 
spine is gone, I shouldn't be surprised if it 
had come through in sections. 

Mrs. Perkins. Why, you poor thing — why 
didn't you say — 

Perkifis {savagely). Why didn't I say.^ My 
heavens, Bess, what did you think I wanted 
the Pond's Extract for— to drink, or to water 
the street with ? O Lord ! {holding up his 
arm). There aren't any ribs sticking out, are 
there? 

Barlow {outside). The other way — there — 
that's it — you've got it. 

Bradley {outside). Why, it is easy, isn't it } 

Perkins {scornfully). Easy ! That fellow'd 
find comfort in — 

Barlow {outside). Now you're ofif — not too 
fast. 

Afrs. Perkins {walking to window). Why, 



The Bicyclers 31 

Thaddeus, he's going Hke the wind down the 
street ! 

Perkins. Heaven help him when he comes 
to the river ! 

Barlow {rushing zn). Here we are in trouble 
again. Brad's gone off on my wheel. Bob's 
taken his, and your tire's punctured. He 
doesn't know the first thing about turning or 
stopping, and I can't run fast enough to catch 
him. One member of the family is in jail — 
the other on a runaway wheel ! 

[Yardsley appears at door. Assumes atti- 
tude of butler announcing guest. 

Yardsley. Missus Willerby 'Awkins ! 
Enter Mrs. Bradley, hysterical, 

Mrs. Bradley. Oh, Edward ! 

[ Throws herself into Barlow's arms. 

Barlow {quietly). Excuse me — ah — Mrs. 
Hawkins — ah — Bradley — but I'm not — I'm 
not your husband. 

Mrs. Bradley {looking up, tragically). 
Where's Edward } 

Mrs. Perkiits. Sit down, dear — you must be 
completely worn out. 

Mrs. Bradley {in alarm). Where is he } 



32 



The Bicyclers 



Perkins {rising and standing on one leg). 
Fact is, Mrs. Bradley — we don't know. He 
disappeared ten minutes ago. 

Yardsley. What do you 
mean } 

Mrs. Bradley. Disap- 
peared } 

Barlow. Yes. He went 
east — at the rate of about 
a mile a minute. 

Mrs. Bradley. My hus- 
band — went east.? Mile 
a minute? 

Perkins. Yes, on a bike. 
Yardsley, take me by the 
shawl-strap, will you, and 
help me over to that 
chair ; my back hurts so 
I can't lie down. 

Mrs. Bradley. Ned — on 
a wheel ? Why, he can't 
ride ! 

Barlow. Oh yes, he can. 
What I'm afraid of is that he can't stop riding. 
Bradley {outside). Hi— Barlow— help ! 




MISSUS WII.LERBY 

'awkins ' " 



The Bicyclers 33 

Mrs. Bradley. That's his voice — he called 
for help. 

Yardsley {rushing to window). Hi — Brad — 
stop ! Your wife's here. 

Bradley {in distance). Can't stop — don't 
know how — 

Barlow {leaning out of witidow). By Jove ! 
he's turned the corner all right. If he keeps 
on around, we can catch him next time he 
passes. 

Mrs. Bradley. Oh, do, do stop him. I'm so 
afraid he'll be hurt. 

Mrs. Perkins {looking out). 1 can just see 
him on the other side of the square — and, oh 
dear me ! — his lamp is out. 

Mrs. Bradley. Oh, Mr. Yardsley— Mr. Bar- 
low — Mr. Perkins — do stop him ! 

\By this time all are gazing out of win- 
dow, except Perkins, who is nursing his 
ankle. 

Perkins. I guess not. I'm not going to lie 
down in the road, or sit in the road, or stand 
in the road to stop him or anybody else. I 
don't believe I've got a sound bone left; but 
if I have, I'm going to save it, if Bradley kills 
3 



34 The Bicyclers 

himself. If his lamp's out the police will stop 
him. Why not be satisfied with that.? 

Bradley {passing the window). For Heaven's 
sake ! one of you fellows stop me. 

Yardsley. Put on the brake. 

Barlow. Fall off. It hasn't got a brake. 

Bradley (despairingly, i7i distance). Can't. 

Mrs. Perkins. This is frightful. 

Perkins {with a gri?nace at his ajtkle). Yes ; 
but there are other fearful things in this 
world. 

Mrs. Bradley, I shall go crazy if he isn't 
stopped. He'll kill himself. 

Yardsley {leaving window hurriedly^. I have 
it. Got a length of clothes-line, Mrs. Perkins? 

Barlow. What the dickens — 

Mrs. Perki?is. Yes. 

YShe rushes from the roorn. 

Mrs. Bradley. What for.? 

Yardsley. I'll lasso him, next time he comes 
around. 

Perkins {with a grin). There'll be two of 
us ! We can start a hospital on the top floor. 

Mrs. Perki7is {returiiing). Here — here's the 
line. 











POOR, DEAR EDWARD! 



The Bicyclers 37 

[Yardsley takes it hurriedly, and, tying it 
into a noose, hastetis out. 

Perkijis (rising). If I never walk again, I 
must see this. \_Limps to window. 

Mrs. Bradley. He's coming, Mr. Yardsley; 
don't miss him. 

Barlow. Steady, Bob ; get in the light. 

Mrs. Perkins. Suppose it catches his neck } 

Perkins. This beats the Wild West Show. 

\A crash. 

All. He's got him. 

\_All rush out, except Perkins. 

Perkijis. Oh yes ; he learned in a minute, he 
did. Easy! Ha, ha ! Gad ! it almost makes 
me forget my pain. 
Enter all, asking : " Is he hurt } How do you 

feel }" etc. Yardsley has rope-end in right 

ha7id; noose is tied about Bradley's body, his 

coat and clothing are much the worse for 

wear. 

Mrs. Bradley. Poor, dear Edward ! 

Bradley {weakly kissing her). Don't m-mind 
me. I— I'm all right — only a little exhilarated 
— and somewhat — er — somewhat breathless. 
Feel like a bird — on toast. Yardsley, you're 



38 The Bicyclers 

a brick. But that pavement— that was a pile 
of 'em, and the hardest I ever encountered. I 
always thought asphalt was soft — who said 
asphalt was soft ? 

Perkins. Easy to learn, though, eh ? 

Bradley. Too easy. I'd have gone on— er— 
forever — er — if it hadn't been for Bob. 

Mrs. Bradley. I'll give it up, Ned dear, if 
you say so. 

Mrs. Perkins {affectionately). That's sweet 
of you, Emma. 

Bradley. No, indeed, you won't, for — er — I 
— I rather like it while it's going on, and 
when I learn to get off — 

Yardsley. Which you will very shortly. 

Barlow. You bet ! he's a dandy. I taught 
him. 

Bradley. I think I'll adore it. 

Perkins. Buy a Czar wheel. Brad. Best in 
the market; weighs only twenty pounds. 
I've got one with a ki-yi pump and a 
pneumatic gun you can have for ten dol- 
lars. 

Jennie {at the door). Supper is served 
ma'am. [Exit. 



The Bicyclers 



39 



Mrs. Perkins. Let us go out and restore our 
nerves. Come, Emma. 
[She and Mrs. 
Bradley walk out. 

Yardsley {aside). I 
say, Brad, you owe me 
five. 

Bradley. What for ? 

Yardsley. Bail. 

Barlow. Cheap too. 
Yardsley. Very, 
think he ought to open 
a bottle besides. 

Perkins. I'll attend 
to the bottles. We'll 
have three. 

Barlow. Two will be 
enough. 

Perkins. Three — two 
of fizz for you and Bob 
and the ladies, and if 

Bradley will agree, I'll split a quart of Pond's 
Extract with him. 

Bradley. I'll go you. I think I could take 
care of the whole quart myself. 




KINDLY PRETEND l' 

shawl' " 



40 The Bicyclers 

Perkins. Then we'll make it four bottles. 

Mrs. Perkins (appearing at door with her 
ami about Mrs. Bradley). Aren't you coming ? 

Perkins {rising with difficulty). As fast as we 
can, my dear. We've been taking lessons, 
you know, and can't move as rapidly as the 
rest of you. We're a trifle — ah — a trifle tired. 
Yardsley, you tow Bradley into the dining- 
room ; and, Barlow, kindly pretend I'm a 
shawl, will you, and carry me in. 

Bradley. I'll buy a wheel to-morrow. 

Perkins. Don't, Brad. I — I'll give you 
mine. Fact is, old man, I don't exactly like 
feeling like a bird. 

\They go oitt, and as the last, Perkins and 
Bradley, disappear stiffly through the 
portieres, the curtain falls. 



A DRAMATIC EVENING 



Characters : 

Mr. Thaddeus Perkins, a victim. 

Mr. Edward Bradley, a friend in disguise. 

Mr. Robert Yardsley, an amiable villain. 

Mr. John Barlow, the amiable villain^ s assistant. 

Mrs. Thaddeus Perkins, a martyr. 

Mrs. Edward Bradley, a woman of executive ability. 

Jennie, a housemaid. 

The scene is placed in the drawing-room ^ Mr. 
and Mrs. Thaddeus Perkins, of New York. 
The time is a Saturday evening in the early 
spring, and the hour is approaching eight. 
The curtain, rising, discovers Perkins, in eve- 
7ting dress, reading a newspaper by the light 
of a lamp on the table. Mrs. Perkins is 
seated on the other side of the table, butto7i- 
ing her gloves. Her wrap is on a chair 
near at hand. The roofn is gracefully over- 
fur7iished. 

Mrs. Perkins. Where are the seats, Thad- 
deus } 



42 A Dramatic Evening 

Perkins. Third row; and, by Jove! Bess 
{lookifig at his watch), we must hurry. It is 
getting on towards eight now. The curtain 
rises at 8.15. 

Mrs. Perkins. The carriage hasn't come yet. 
It isn't more than a ten minutes' drive to the 
theatre. 

Perkitis. That's true, but there are so many 
carriage-folk going to see Irving that if we 
don't start early we'll find ourselves on the 
end of the line, and the first act will be half 
over before we can reach our seats. 

Mrs. Perkifis. I'm so glad we've got good 
seats — down near the front. I despise opera- 
glasses, and seats under the galleries are so 
oppressive. 

Perkins. Well, I don't know. For the Lyons 
Mail I think a seat in the front row of the 
top gallery, where you can cheer virtue and 
hiss villany without making yourself conspic- 
uous, is the best. 

Mrs. Perkins. You don't mean to say that 
you'd like to sit up with those odious gallery 
gods ? 

Perkins. For a melodrama, I do. What's 



A Dramatic Evening 43 

the use of clapping your gloved hands togeth- 
er at a melodrama? That doesn't express 
your feelings. I always want to put two fin- 
gers in my mouth and pierce the atmosphere 
with a regular gallery-god whistle when I see 
the villain laid low by the tow-headed idiot in 
the last act— but it wouldn't do in the orches- 
tra. You might as well expect the people in 
the boxes to eat peanuts as expect an orches- 
tra-chair patron to whistle on his fingers. 

Mrs. Perkins. I should die of mortification 
if you ever should do such a vulgar thing, 
Thaddeus. 

Perkins. Then you needn't be afraid, my 
dear. I'm too fond of you to sacrifice you to 
my love for whistling. {The front-door bell 
rings) Ah, there is the carriage at last. I'll 
go and get my coat. 

[Mrs. Perkins rises, and is about to don 
her wrap as Mr. Perkins goes towards 
the door. 
Enter Mr. and Mrs. Bradley. Perkins stag- 
gers backward in surprise. Mrs. Perkins 
lets her wrap fall to the floor, an expression 
of dismay on her face. 



44 A Dramatic Evening 

Airs. Perkins {aside). Dear me! I'd forgot- 
ten all about it. T/n's is the night the club is 
to meet here ! 

Bradley. Ah, Perkins, how d' y' do? Glad 
to see me ? Gad ! you don't look it. 

Perkins. Glad is a word which scarcely ex- 
presses my feelings, Bradley. I — I'm simply 
de-lighted. {Aside to Mrs. Perkins, who has 
been greetiiig Mrs. Bradley.) Here's a kettle 
of fish. We must get rid of them, or we'll 
miss the Lyons Mail. 

Mrs. Bradley. You two are always so formal. 
The idea of your putting on your dress suit, 
Thaddeus ! It '11 be ruined before we are half 
through this evening. 

Bradley. Certainly, Perkins. Why, man, 
when you've been moving furniture and tak- 
ing up carpets and ripping out fireplaces for 
an hour or two that coat of yours will be a 
rag — a veritable rag that the ragman himself 
would be dubious about buying. 

Perkins {aside). Are these folk crazy ? Or 
am I } {Aloud) Pulling up fireplaces } 
Moving out furniture.^ Am I to be dispos- 
sessed } 



A Dramatic Evening 47 

Mrs. Bradley. Not by your landlord, but 
you know what amateur dramatics are. 

Bradley. I doubt it. He wouldn't have let 
us have 'em here if he had known. 

Perkins. Amateur — amateur dramatics .-^ 

Mrs. Perkins. Certainly, Thaddeus. You 
know we offered our parlor for the perform- 
ance. The audience are to sit out in the hall. 

Perkins. Oh— ah ! Why, of course ! Cer- 
tainly ! It had slipped my mind ; and— ah — 
what else } 

Bradley. Why, we're here to-night to ar- 
range the scene. Don't tell us you didn't 
know it. Bob Yardsley's coming, and Bar- 
low. Yardsley's a great man for amateur 
dramatics; he bosses things so pleasantly that 
you don't know you're being ordered about 
like a slave. I believe he could persuade a 
man to hammer nails into his piano-case if he 
wanted it done, he's so insinuatingly lovely 
about it all. 

Perkins {absently). I'll get a hammer. \_Exit. 

Mrs. Perkins {aside). I must explain to 
Thaddeus. He'll never forgive me. {Aloud.) 
Thaddeus is so forgetful that I don't believe 



48 A Dramatic Evening 

he can find that hammer, so if you'll excuse 
me I'll go help him. {_Exit. 

Bradley. Wonder what's up? They don't 
quarrel, do they ? 

Mrs. Bradley. I don't believe any one could 
quarrel with Bessie Perkins — not even a man. 

Bradley. Well, they're queer. Acted as if 
they weren't glad to see us. 

Mrs. Bradley. Oh, that's all your imagina- 
tion. {Looks about the room) That table will 
have to be taken out, and all these chairs and 
cabinets ; and the rug will never do. 

Bradley. Why not.^ I think the rug will 
look first-rate. 

Mrs. Bradley. A rug like that in a conserva- 
tory } [A rmg at the frofit-door bell Is heard. 

Bradley. Ah ! maybe that's Yardsley. I hope 
so. If Perkins and his wife are out of sorts 
we want to hurry up and get through. 

Mrs. Bradley. Oh, we'll be through by twelve 
o'clock. 

Enter Yardsley a7td Barlow. 

Yardsley. Ah ! here we are at last. The 
wreckers have arrove. Where's Perkins } 

Barlow. Taken to the woods, I fancy. I 



A Dramatic Evening 49 

say, Bob, don't you think before we begin 
we'd better give Perkins ether? He'll suffer 
dreadful agony. 

E?iter Mrs. Perkins, wiping her eyes. 

Mrs. Perkins. How do you do, Mr. Barlow } 
and you, Mr. Yardsley } So glad to see you. 
Thaddeus will be down in a minute. He — ah 
— he forgot about the — the meeting here to- 
night, and he — he put on his dress-coat. 

Yardsley. Bad thing to lift a piano in. Bet- 
ter be without any coat. But I say we be- 
gin — eh? If you don't mind, Mrs. Perkins. 
We've got a great deal to do, and unfortu- 
nately hours are limited in length as well as 
in number. Ah ! that fireplace must be cov- 
ered up. Wouldn't do to have a fireplace in 
a conservatory. Wilt all the flowers in ten 
minutes. 

Mrs. Perkins {meekly). You needn't have the 
fire lit, need you ? 

Barlow. No — but — a fireplace without fire 
in it seems sort of — of bald, don't you think ? 

Yardsley. Bald ? Splendid word applied to 
a fireplace. So few fireplaces have hair. 

Mrs. Bradley. Oh, it could be covered up 



50 A Dramatic Evening 

without any trouble, Bessie. Can't we have 
those dining-room portieres to hang in front 
of it? 

Yardsley. Just the thing. Dining-room por- 
tieres always look well, whether they're in a 
conservatory or a street scene. {Enter Per- 
kins.) Hello, Thaddeus ! How d' y' } Got 
your overalls on } 

Perkins {trying to appear serene). Yes. I'm 
ready for anything. Anything I can do? 

Bradley. Yes — look pleasant. You look as 
if you were going to have your picture taken, 
or a tooth pulled. Haven't you a smile you 
don't need that you can give us? This isn't 
a funeral. 

Perkins {assuming a grin). How '11 that do ? 

Barlow. First-rate. We'll have to make you 
act next. That's the most villanous grin 1 
ever saw. 

Yardsley. I'll write a tragedy to go with it. 
But I say, Thad, we want those dining-room 
portieres of yours. Get 'em down for us, will 
you? 

Perkins. Dining-room portieres I What for? 

Mrs. Perkins. They all think the fireplace 



A Dramatic Evening 51 

would better be hid, Thaddeus, dear. It 
wouldn't look well in a conservatory, 

Perkms. I suppose not. And the dining- 
room portieres are wanted to cover up the 
fireplace? 

Yardsley. Precisely. You have a managerial 
brain, Thaddeus. Yoii can see at once what 
a dining-room portiere is good for. If ever I 
am cast away on a desert island, with nothing 
but a dining-room portiere for solace, I hope 
you'll be along to take charge of it. In your 
hands its possibilities are absolutely unlim- 
ited. Get them for us, old man ; and while 
you are about it, bring a stepladder. {Exit 
Perkins, dejectedly.) Now, Barlow, you and 
Bradley help me with this piano. Pianos may 
do well enough in gardens or pirates' caves, 
but for conservatories they're not worth a 
rap. 

Mrs. Bradley. Wait a moment. We must 
take the bric-a-brac from the top of it before 
you touch it. If there are two incompatible 
things in this world, they are men and bric-a- 
brac. 

Mrs. Perkms. You are so thoughtful, 



52 A Dramatic Evening 

though I am sure that Mr. Yardsley would 
not break anythhig willingly. 

Barloiv. Nothing but the ten command- 
ments. 

Yardsley. They aren't bric-a-brac; and I 
thank you, Mrs. Perkins, for your expression 
of confidence. I wouldn't intentionally go 
into the house of another man and toss his 
Sevres up in the air, or throw his Royal Wor- 
cester down-stairs, except under very great 
provocation. (Mrs. Perkins aiid Mrs. Bradley 
have by this time removed the bric-a-brac from 
the piano — an upright) Now, boys, are you 
ready } 

Bradley. Where is it to be moved to } 

Yardsley. Where would you prefer to have 
it, Mrs. Perkins.^ 

Mrs. Perkins. Oh, I have no preference in 
the matter. Put it where you please. 

Yardsley. Suppose you carry it up into the 
attic, Barlow. 

Barlow. Certainly. I'll be glad to if you'll 
carry the soft pedal. I'm always afraid when 
I'm carrying pianos up-stairs of breaking the 
soft pedal or dropping a few octaves. 




I LL BE GLAD TO IF YOU LL CARRY THE SOFT PEDAL 



A Dramatic Evening 55 

Yardsley. I guess we'd better put it over in 
this corner, where the audience won't see it. 
If you are so careless that you can't move a 
piano without losing its tone, we'd better not 
have it moved too far. Now, then. 

[Barlow, Yardsley, ajid Bradley endeavor 

to push the piano over the floor, but it 

doesnt move. 

Etiter Perkins with two portieres wrapped 

about him, and hugging a small stepladder 

in his arms. 

Bradley. Hurry up, Perkins. Don't shirk 
so. Can't you see that we're trying to get 
this piano across the floor.? Where are you at.? 

Perkins {meekly). I'm trying to make myself 
at home. Do you expect me to hang on to 
these things and move pianos at the same 
time? 

Barlow. Let him alone, Bradley. He's do- 
ing the best he knows. I always say give a 
man credit fordoing what he can, whether he 
is intelligent or not. Of course we don't ex- 
pect you to hang on to the portieres and the 
stepladder while you are pushing the piano, 
Thad. That's too much to expect of any man 



56 A Dramatic Evening 

of your size ; some men might do it, but not 
all. Drop the portieres. 

Perkins. Where'll I put 'em ? 

Yardsley. Put them on the stepladder. 

Perkins {impatiejitly). And where shall I 
put the stepladder — on the piano? 

Mrs. Perkins {coming to the rescue). I'll take 
care of these things, Thaddeus, dear. 

Bradley. That's right ; put everything off 
on your wife. What shirks some men are ! 

Yardsley. Now, then, Perkins, lend us your 
shoulder, and — one, two, three — push ! Ah ! 
She starts ; she moves ; she seems to feel the 
thrill of life along her keel. We must have 
gained an inch. Once more, now. My, but 
this is a heavy piano ! 

Bradley. Must be full of Wagnerian music. 
Why don't you get a piano of lighter quality, 
Perkins.'' This isn't any kind of an instru- 
ment for amateur stage-hands to manage. 

Perkins. I'll know better next time. But 
is it where you want it now } 

Yardsley. Not a bit of it. We need one 
more push. Get her rolling, and keep her 
rolling until she stands over there in that 



A Dramatic Evening 57 

corner; and be careful to stop her in time. 
I should hate to push a piano through one 
of my host's parlor walls just for the want of 
a little care. ( They push tmtzl the piano stafids 
agaiiist the wall on the other side of the room, 
keyboard in) There ! " That's first-rate. You 
can put a camp-chair on top of it for the 
prompter to sit on ; there's nothing like hav- 
ing the prompter up high, because amateur 
actors, when they forget their lines, always 
look up in the air. Perkins, go sit out in the 
hall and imagine yourself an enthusiastic au- 
dience — will you } — and tell us if you can see 
the piano. If you can see it, we'll have to 
put it somewhere else. 

Perkins. Do you mean it } 

Mrs. Bradley. Of course he doesn't, Mr. 
Perkins. It's impossible to see it from the 
hall. Now, I think the rug ought to come up. 

Mrs. Perkins. Dear me ! what for.^ 

Yardsley, Oh, it wouldn't do at all to have 
that rug in the conservatory, Mrs. Perkins. 
Besides, I should be afraid it would be spoiled, 

Perkins. Spoiled } What would spoil it } 
Are you going to wear spiked shoes .^ 



58 A Dramatic Evening 

Barlow. Spiked shoes? Thaddeus, really 
you ought to have your mind examined. This 
scene is supposed to be just off the ballroom, 
and it is here that Gwendoline comes during 
the lanciers and encounters Hartley, the vil- 
lain. Do you suppose that even a villain in 
an amateur show would go to a ball with 
spiked shoes on ? 

Perkins {wearily). But I still fail to see what 
is to spoil the rug. Does the villain set fire 
to the conservatory in this play, or does he as- 
sassinate the virtuous hero here and spill his 
gore on the floor? 

Bradley. What a blood-and-thunder idea of 
the drama you have! Of course he doesn't. 
There isn't a death in the whole play, and it's 
two hours long. One or two people in the 
audience may die while the play is going on, 
but people who haven't strong constitutions 
shouldn't attend amateur shows. 

Mrs. Perkijis. That's true, I fancy. 

Mrs. Bradley. Very. It would be very rude 
for one of your invited guests to c^st a gloom 
over your evening by dying. 

Yardsley. It is seldom done among people 



A Dramatic Evening 59 

who know what is what. But to explain the 
point you want explained, Thaddeus : the rug 
might be spoiled by a leak in the fountain. 

Airs. Perkins. The fountain ? 

Perkins. You don't mean to say you're going 
to have a fountain playing here? 

Bradley. Certainly. A conservatory with- 
out a fountain would be like "Hamlet" with 
Yorick's skull left out. There's to be a fount- 
ain playing here, and a band playing in the 
next room — all in a green light, too. It '11 be 
highly effective. 

Perkins. But iiow — how are you going to 
make the fountain go} Is it to spurt real 
water ? 

Yardsley. Of course. Did you ever see a 
fountain spurt sawdust or lemonade ? It's 
not a soda-water fountain either, but a straight 
temperance affair, such as you'll find in the 
homes of all truly good people. Now don't 
get excited and raise obstacles. The thing 
is simple enough if you know how to do it. 
Got one of those English bath-tubs in the 
house } 

Perkins. No. But, of course, if you want a 



6o A Dramatic Evening 

bath-tub, I'll have a regular porcelain one 
with running water, hot and cold, put in — two 
of 'em, if you wish. Anything to oblige. 

Yardsley. No ; stationary bath-tubs are use- 
ful, but not exactly adapted to a conserva- 
tory. 

Barlow. I brought my tub with me. I knew 
Perkins hadn't one, and so I thought I'd bet- 
ter come provided. It's out in the hall. I'll 
get it. lExi't. 

Airs. Bradley {to Mrs. Perkins). He's just 
splendid ! never forgets anything. 

Mrs. Perkins. I should say not. But, Mr. 
Yardsley, a bath-tub, even an English one, 
will not look very well, will it } 

Yardsley. Oh, very. You see, we'll put it in 
the centre of the room. Just move that table 
out into the hall, Thaddeus. {Enter Barlow 
with ttib.) Ah ! now I'll show you. (Perkins 
removes table.) You see, we put the tub here 
in the middle of the floor, then we surround it 
with potted plants. That conceals the tub, 
and there's your fountain. 

Perkins. But the water — how do you get 
that } 




i 



VOU SEE, WE PUT THE TUB HERE 



A Dramatic Evening 6^ 

Bradley. We buy it in bottles, of course, and 
hire a boy to come in and pour it out every 
two minutes. How dull you are, Perkins! 
I'm surprised at you. 

Perkins. I'm not over-bright, I must con- 
fess, when it comes to building fountains in 
parlors, with no basis but an English bath-tub 
to work on. 

Yardsley. Did you ever hear of such a thing 
as a length of hose with a nozzle on one end 
and a Croton-water pipe at the other, Thad- 
deus Perkins.-^ 

Mrs. Perki7is. But where is the Croton- 
water pipe } 

Mrs. Bradley. In the butler's pantry. The 
hose can be carried through the dining-room, 
across the hall into this room, and it will be 
dreadfully effective ; and so safe, too, in case 
the curtain catches fire. 

Mrs. Perkms. Oh, Emma! You don't 
think — 

Perkins. Cheerful prospect. But I say, 
Yardsley, you have arranged for the water 
supply ; how about its exit ? How does the 
water get out of the tub } 



A Dramatic Evenino: 



& 



Yardslcy. It doesn't, unless you want to 
bore a hole in the floor, and let it flow into 
the billiard-room below. We've just got to 
hustle that scene along, so that the climax 
will be reached before the tub overflows. 

Barlow. Perhaps we'd better test the thing 
now. Maybe my tub isn't large enough for 
the scene. It would be awkward if the hero- 
ine had to seize a dipper and bale the fountain 
out right in the middle of an impassioned re- 
buke to Hartley. 

Pei'kms. All right — go ahead. Test it. 
Test anything. I'll supply the Croton pipes. 

Yardsley. None of you fellows happen to 
have a length of hose with you, do you } 

Bradley. I left mine in my other clothes. 

Mrs. Bradley. That's just likeyou men. You 
grow flippant over very serious matters. For 
my part, if I am to play Gwendoline, I shall 
not bale out the fountain even to save poor 
dear Bessie's floor. 

Yardsley. Oh, it '11 be all right. Only, if you 
see the fountain getting too full, speak faster. 

Barlow. We might announce a race between 
the heroine and the fountain. It would add 




© ^ 



" ' IT WOULD BE AWKWARD ' " 



A Dramatic Evening 67 

to the interest of the play. This is an ath- 
letic age. 

Perkins. I suppose it wouldn't do to turn 
the water off in case of danger. 

Barlow. It could be done, but it wouldn't 
look well. The audience might think the 
fountain had had an attack of stage fright. 
Where is the entrance from the ballroom to be. 

Yardsley. It ought to be where the fireplace 
is. That's one reason why I think the por- 
tieres will look well there. 

Mrs. Perkins. But I don't see how that can 
be. Nobody could come in there. There 
wouldn't be room behind for any one to stand, 
would there } 

Bradley. I don't know. That fireplace is 
large, and only two people have to come in 
that way. The rising curtain discloses Gwen- 
doline just having come in. If Hartley, the 
villain, and Jack Pendleton, the manly young 
navy officer, who represents virtue, and dashes 
in at the right moment to save Gwendoline, 
could sit close and stand the discomfort of it, 
they might squeeze in there and await their 
cues. 



68 A Dramatic Evening 

Mrs. Perkins. Sit in the fireplace? 

Yardsley. Yes. Why not? 

PerkiJis. Don't you interfere, Bess. Yards- 
ley is managing this show, and if he wants to 
keep the soubrette waiting on the mantel- 
piece it's his lookout, and not ours. 

Yardsley. By-the-way, Thaddeus, Wilkins 
has backed out, and you are to play the villain. 

Perkins. I ? Never ! 

Barlow. Oh, but you must. All you have 
to do is frown and rant and look real bad. 

Perkins. But I can't act. 

Bradley. That doesn't make any difference. 
We don't want a villain that the audience will 
fall in love with. That would be immoral. 
The more you make them despise you, the 
better, 

Perkins. Well — I positively decline to sit in 
the fireplace. I tell you that right now. 

Mrs. Bradley. Don't waste time talking about 
petty details. Let the entrance be there. We 
can hang the curtain on a frame two feet out 
from the wall, so that there will be plenty of 
room behind for Hartley and Pendleton to 
stand. The frame can be fastened to the 



A Dramatic Evening 69 

wood-work of the mantel-piece. It may take 
a screw or two to hold it, but they'll be high 
up, so nobody will notice the holes in the 
wood after it comes down. The point that 
bothers me is this wall-paper. People don't 
put wall-papers on their conservatories. 

Perkins {sarcastically). I'll have the room 
repapered in sheet-glass. Or we might bor- 
row a few hot-bed covers and hang them from 
the picture moulding, so that the place would 
look like a real greenhouse. 

Yardsley. Napoleonic idea. Barlow, jot 
down among the properties ten hot-bed cov- 
ers, twenty picture-hooks, and a coil of wire. 
You're developing, Perkins. 

Mrs. Perkins {ruefully, aside). I wish Thad- 
deus's jokes weren't always taken seriously. 
The idea of my drawing-room walls being 
hung with hot-bed covers ! Why, it's awful. 

Yardsley. Well, now that that's settled, we'll 
have to dispose of the pictures. Thaddeus, 
I wish you'd take down the pictures on the 
east wall, so that we can put our mind's eye 
on just how we shall treat the background. 
The mere hanging of hot-bed covers there 



70 A Dramatic Evening 

will not do. The audience could see directly- 
through the glass, and the wall-paper would 
still destroy the illusion. 

Perkins. Anything. Perhaps if you got a 
jack-plane and planed the walls off it would 
suffice. 

Bradley. Don't be sarcastic, my boy. Re- 
member we didn't let you into this. You vol- 
unteered. 

Perkins. I know it, Bradley. The house is 
yours. 

Barlow. I said you had paresis when you 
made the offer, Perkins. If you want to go 
to law about it, I think you could get an in- 
junction against us — or, rather, Mrs. Perkins 
could — on the ground that you were no7t com- 
pos at the time. 

Mrs. Perkins. Why, we're most happy to 
have you, I'm sure. 

Perkins. So 'm I. {Aside.) Heaven forgive 
me that ! 

Yardsley. By -the -way, Thad, there's one 
thing I meant to have spoken about as soon 
as I got here. Er — is this your house, or do 
you rent it ? 



A Dramatic Evening 71 

PerkiJis. I rent it. What has that to do 
with it ? 

Bradley. A great deal. You don't think 
we'd treat your house as we would a com- 
mon landlord's, do you .'' You wouldn't your- 
self. 

Yardsley. That's the point. If you own the 
house we want to be careful and consider your 
feelings. If you don't, we don't care what 
happens. 

Perkzjis. I don't own the house. {Aside.) 
And under the circumstances I'm rather glad 
I don't. 

Yardsley. Well, I'm glad you don't. My 
weak point is my conscience, and when it 
comes to destroying a friend's property, I 
don't exactly like to do it. But if this house 
belongs to a sordid person, who built it just 
to put money in his own pocket, I don't care. 
Barlow, you can nail those portieres up. It 
won't be necessary to build a frame for them. 
Bradley, carry the chairs and cabinets out. 

[Bradley, assisted by Perkins, removes the 
remaining furniture, placing the bric-a- 
brac on the floor. 



72 A Dramatic Evening 

Barlow. All right. Where's that steplad- 
der ? Thaddeus, got any nails ? 

Mrs. Perkins. I — I think we'd rather have a 
frame, Mr. Yardsley. We can have one made, 
can't we, Thaddeus ? 

Perkins. Certainly. We can have anything 
made. {Aside.) I suppose I'd build a theatre 
for 'em if they asked me to, I'm such a con- 
founded — 

Yardsley. Oh no. Of course, if you'd pre- 
fer it, we'll send a frame. I don't think nails 
would look well in this ceiling, after all. Tem- 
porarily, though. Barlow, you might hang those 
portieres from the picture-moulding. 

Barlow. There isn't any. 

Yardsley. Well, then, we'll have to imagine 
how it will look. 

Mrs. Bradley. All the bric-a-brac will have 
to be taken from the room. 

Yardsley. True. Perkins, you know the 
house better than we do. Suppose you take 
the bric-a-brac out and put it where it will be 
safe. 

Perkins. Certainly. 

[Begins to remove bric-a-brac. 



A Dramatic Evening 73 

Yardsley. Now let's count up. Here's the 
fountain. 

Barlow. Yes ; only we haven't the hose. 

Bradley. Well, make a note of it. 

Mrs. PerktJis. Emma, can't we help Thad- 
deus ? 

Mrs. Bradley. Of course. I'll carry out the 
fender, and you take the andirons. 

[ T?iey do so. 

Yardsley. The entrance will be here, and 
here will be the curtain. How about foot- 
lights? 

Bradley. This bracket will do for a connec- 
tion. Any plumber can take this bracket off 
and fasten a rubber pipe to it. 

Yardsley. First-rate. Barlow, make a note 
of one plumber, one length of rubber pipe, and 
foot-lights. 

Bradley. And don't forget to have potted 
plants and palms, and so forth, galore. 

Barlow. No. I'll make a note of that. Will 
this sofa do for a conservatory } 

Yardsley. Jove ! Glad you mentioned that. 
Won't do at all. Thaddeus ! {No answer?) I 
hope we haven't. driven him to drink. 



74 A Dramatic Evening 

Bradley. So do I. I'd rather he'd lead us 
to it. 

Yardsley. Thaddeus ! 

Perkins {froui withoiif). Well ? 

Yardsley. Do you happen to have any con- 
servatory benches in the house ? 

Mrs. Perkins (appearing in doorway). We 
have a patent laundry table. 

Barlow. Just the thing. 

Yardsley {calling). Bring up the patent laun- 
dry table, Thaddeus. (r^ Bradley.) What is 
a patent laundry table ,'' 

Bradley. It's what my wife calls the cook's 
delight. It's an ironing-board on wash-days, 
a supper table at supper-time, and on the 
cook's reception days it can be turned into a 
settee. 

Yardsley. It describes well. 

Perkins {from a distance). Hi ! come down 
and help me with this thing. I can't carry it 
up alone. 

Yardsley. All right. Perk. Bradley, you and 
Barlow help Thaddeus. I'll move these other 
chairs and tables out. It's getting late, and 
we'll have to hustle. 



A Dramatic Evening 75 

YExzt Barlow. Bradley meanwhile has 

been removing pictures from the walls, 

and, as Yardsley speaks, is stajtding on 

the stepladder reaching up for apaintijtg. 

Bradley. What do you take me for — twins? 

Yardsley, Don't get mad, now, Bradley. If 

there's anything that can add to the terror of 

amateur theatricals it's temper. 

Mrs. Bradley {from without). Edward, come 
here right away. I want you to move the hat- 
stand, and see how many people can be seated 
in this hall. 

Bradley. Oh yes, certainly, my dear — of 
course. Right away. My name is Legion — 
or Dennis. 

Yardsley. That's the spirit. {A crash is 
heard without) Great Scott ! What's that } 
Mrs. Perkins {without). Oh, Thaddeus ! 
Bradley. They've dropped the cook's de- 
light. 

YHe comes down from the stepladder. He 
and Yardsley go out. The pictures are 
piled up on the floor, the furniture is 
topsy-tui'vy, and the portieres lie in a 
heap on the hearth. 



76 A Dramatic Evening 

Enter Mrs. Perkins. 

Mrs. Perkins. Dear, dear, dear! What a 
mess! And poor Thaddeus ! I'm glad he 
wasn't hurt; but I — I'm afraid I heard him 
say words I never heard him say before when 
Mr. Barlow let the table slip. Wish I hadn't 
said anything about the table. 

Enter Mrs. Bradley. 

Mrs. Bradley. These men will drive me 
crazy. They are making more fuss carrying 
that laundry table up-stairs than if it were a 
house ; and the worst of it is our husbands 
are losing their tempers. 

Mrs. Perkins. Well, I don't wonder. It 
must be awfully trying to have a laundry table 
fall on you. 

Mrs. Bradley. Oh, Thaddeus is angelic, but 
Edward is absolutely inexcusable. He swore 
a minute ago, and it sounded particularly pro- 
fane because he had a screw and a picture- 
hook in his mouth. 

Yardsley {outside). It's almost as heavy as 
the piano. I don't see why, either. 

[ The four men appear at the door, stagger- 
ing under the weight of the laundry table. 



A Dramatic Evening 77 

Perkins (as they set it down). Whew ! That's 
what I call work. What makes this thing so 
heavy ? 

Mrs. Bradley {as she opens a drawer a7id 
takes out a half-dozen patent fiat-irons and a 
handle). This has something to do with it. 
Why didn't you take out the drawer first? 

Yardsley. It wasn't my fault. They'd started 
with it before I took hold. / didn't know it 
had a drawer, though I did wonder what it 
was that rattled around inside of it. 

Bradley. It wasn't for me to suggest taking 
the drawer out. Thaddeus ought to have 
thought of that. 

Perkins {angrily). Well, of all — 

Mrs. Perkins. Never mind. It's here, and 
it's all right. 

Yardsley. That's so. We musn't quarrel. 
If we get started, we'll never stop. Now, 
Perkins, roll up that rug, and we'll get things 
placed, and then we'll be through. 

Barlow. Come on ; I'll help. Bradley, get 
those pictures ofif the rug. Don't be so care- 
less of Mrs. Perkins's property. 

Bradley. Careless ? See here now, Barlow — 



78 A Dramatic Evening 

Mrs. Bradley. Now, Edward — no temper. 
Take the pictures out. 

Bradley. And where shall I take the pic- 
tures out to } 

Yardsley. Put 'em on the dining-room ta- 
ble. 

Perkins {aside). Throw 'em out the win- 
dow, for all I care. 

Bradley. Eh.? 

Perkins. Nothing. I — er — I only said to put 
'em — er — to put 'em wherever you pleased. 

Bradley. But / can't say where they're to 
go, Thaddeus. This isn't my house. 

Perkins {aside). No — worse luck— it's mine. 

Mrs. Perkins. Oh — put them in the dining- 
room ; they'll be safe there. 

Bradley. I will. 

YHe begins carrying the pictures out. Per- 
kins, Barlow, and Yardsley roll tip the 
rug. 

Yardsley. There ! You fellows might as 
well carry that out too; and then we'll be 
ready for the scene. 

Barlow. Come along, Thaddeus. You're 
earning your pay to-night. 




"this has something to do with it 



A Dramatic Evening 79 

Perkms {desperately). May I take my coat 
off? I'm boiling. 

Mrs. Bradley. Certainly. I wonder you 
didn't think of it before. 

Perkms. Think ? I never think, 

Yardsley. Well, go ahead in your thought- 
less way and get the rug out. You are de- 
laying us. 

Perkms. All right. Come on. Barlow, are 
you ready .^ 

Barlow. I am. [T/iey drag the rug out. 

Yardsley. At last. {Replaces the tub.) There's 
the fountain. Now where shall we put the 
cook's delight ? 

Mrs. Perkms. Over here, I should say. 

Mrs. Bradley. I think it would be better 
here. 

Bradley {who has retur7ied). Put it half-way 
between 'em, Yardsley. I say give in always 
to the ladies; and when they don't agree, 
compromise. It's a mighty poor woman that 
isn't half right occasionally. 

Mrs. Bradley. Edward ! 

Yardsley {adoptmg the suggestion). There ! 
How's that } 



8o A Dramatic Evening 

Perkms {retiimmg). Perfect. I never saw 
such an original conservatory in my life. 

Mrs. Perkms. I suppose it's all right. What 
do you think, Emma.? 

Airs. Bradley. Why, it's simply fine. Of 
course it requires a little imagination to see 
it as it will be on the night of the perform- 
ance ; but in general I don't see how it could 
be better. 

Barloiu. No — nor I. It's great as it is, but 
when we get the hot-bed covers hung, and 
the fountain playing, and plants arranged 
gracefully all around, it will be ideal. I 
say we ought to give Yardsley a vote of 
thanks. 

Perkms. That's so. We're very much in- 
debted to Yardsley. 

Yardsley. Never mind that. I enjoy the 
work very much. 

Perkms. So glad. {Aside) I wonder when 
we get a vote of thanks } 

Bradley {lookijig at his watch). By Jove, 
Emma, it's after eleven ! 

Mrs. Bradley. After eleven } Dear me ! I 
had no idea it was as late as that. How time 



A Dramatic Evenins: 8i 



& 



flies when you are enjoying yourself ! Really, 
Edward, you ought not to have overlooked 
the time. You know — 

Bradley. I supposed you knew we couldn't 
pull a house down in five minutes. 

Perki?is. What's become of the clock ? 

Mt^s. Perkins. 1 don't know. Who took 
the clock out? 

Barlow. I did. It's under the dining-room 
table. 

Mrs. Bradley. Well, we mustn't keep Bessie 
up another moment. Good-night, my dear. 
We have had a delightful time. 

Mrs. Perkins. Good-night. I am sure we 
have enjoyed it. 

Perkins {aside). Oh yes, indeed ; we haven't 
had so much fun since the children had the 
mumps. 

Yardsley. Well, so-long, Perkins. Thanks 
for your help. 

Perkins. By-by. 

Barlow. Good- night. 

Yardsley. Don't bother about fixing up 
to-night, Perkins, I'll be around to-mor- 

6 



82 A Dramatic Evenino: 



& 



row evening and help put things in order 
again. 

[ They all go out. The good- nights are 
repeated, and finally the front door is 
closed. 
Re-enter Perl^ins, who falls dejectedly on the 

settee, followed by Mrs. Perkins, who gives a 

riief id glance at the room. 

Perkins. I'm glad Yardsley's coming to fix 
us up again. I never could do it. 

Mrs. Perkins. Then I must. I can't ask 
Jennie to do it, she'd discharge us at once, 
and I can't have my drawing-room left this 
way over Sunday. 

Perkins (wearily). Oh, well, shall we do it 
now.^ 

Mrs. Perkins. No, you poor dear man ; we'll 
stay home from church to-morrow morning 
and do it. It won't be any harder work than 
reading the Sunday newspapers. What have 
you there } 

Perkins {looking at two tickets he has abstract- 
ed from his vest-pocket). Tickets for Irving— 
this evening — Lyons Mail — third row from 
the stage. I was just thinking — 



A Dramatic Evening 



83 



Mrs. Perkins. Don't tell me what you were 
thinking, my dear. It can't be expressible in 
polite language. 

Perkins. You are wrong there, my dear. 1 
wasn't thinking cuss-words at all. 1 was only 





HE S BEEN THERE THREE HOURS NOW 



reflecting that we didn't miss much anyhow, 
under the circumstances. 

Mrs. Perkins. Miss much.? Why, Thad- 
deus, what do you mean ? 

Perkins. Nothing — only that for action 
continuous and situations overpowering the 



84 A Dramatic Evening 

Lyons Mail isn't a marker to an evening of 
preparation for Amateur Dramatics. 
Enter Jennie. 
Jennie. Excuse me, mim, but the coachman 
says shall he wait any longer? He's been 
there three hours now. 

[curtain] 



THE FATAL MESSAGE 



Characters : 

Mr. Thaddeus Perkins, in charge of the curiam. 

Mrs. Thaddeus Perkins, cast for Lady Ellen. 
^ Miss Andrews, cast for the maid. 
.,Mr. Edward Bradley, an 7mder-study. 
,,Mrs. Edward Bradley, cast for Lady Amaranth. 
.Mr. Robert Yardsley, stage-manager. 

Mr. Jack Barlow, cast for Fenderson Featherhead. 

Mr. Chester Henderson, an absentee. 
-vJennie, a professional zvaitress. 



The scene is laid in the library of the Perkins 
mansion, on the afternoon of the day upon 
which an amateur dramatic peiforinance is 
to be held therein. The Perkins house has 
been given over to the dramatic association 
having the matter in charge. At right of 
library a scenic doorway is hung. At left a 
drop-curtain is a7'ra7iged, behind which is the 
middle hall of the Perkins dwelling, where the 
expected audience are to sit. The unocciipied 
wall spaces are. hung with paper-muslin. 



86 The Fatal Message 

The apartment is fitted up generally to resem- 
ble an English drawing-room ; table and chair 
at centre. At rear stands a painted-canvas 
conservatory efitrance, on left of which is a 
long oaken chest. The curtaift rising dis- 
covers Mrs. Perkins givi7ig a few finishing 
touches to the sce7ie, with Mr. Y^^xVxws, gazing 
curiously about the room. 

Perkins. Well, they've transformed this 
library into a scene of bewitching beauty — 
haven't they.'* These paper-muslin walls are 
a dream of loveliness. I suppose, as the pos- 
sessor of all this, I ought to be supremely 
happy — only I wish that canvas conservatory 
door hadn't been tacked over my reference- 
books. I want to look up some points 
about — 

Mrs. Perkins. Oh, never mind your books, 
Thaddeus ; it's only for one night. Can't you 
take a minute's rest } 

Perkins. One night? I like that. It's been 
there two already, and it's in for to-night, and 
all day to-morrow, I suppose. It'll take all 
day to-morrow to clean up, I'll wager a hat. 



The Fatal Message 87 

I'm beginning to rue the hour I ever allowed 
the house of Perkins to be lured into the 
drama. 

Mrs. Perkins. You're better off than I am. 
I've got to take part, and I don't half know 
my lines. 

Perkms. I? I better off .^ I'd like to know 
if I haven't got to sit out in front and watch 
you people fulfil your diabolical mission in 
your doubly diabolical way, and grin at the 
fearful jokes in the dialogue I've been listen- 
ing to for weeks, and make the audience feel 
that they are welcome when they're not. 
What's been done with my desk ? 

Airs. Perkms. It's down in the laundry. 
You're about as — 

Perkms. Oh, is it ? Laundry is a nice place 
for a desk. Plenty of starch handy to stiffen 
up a writer's nerve, and scrubbing-boards 
galore to polish up his wits. And I suppose 
my papers are up in the attic .^ 

Mrs. Perkins. No ; they're stowed away 
safely in the nursery. Now please don't com- 
plain ! 

Perkins. Me? Complain.^ I never complain. 



88 The Fatal Message 

I didn't say a word when Yardsley had my 
Cruikshanks torn from their shelves and 
chucked into a clothes-basket and carried into 
the butler's pantry, did I ? Did I say as 
much as one little word ? I wanted to say one 
little word, I admit, but I didn't. Did I ? If 
I did, I withdraw it. I'm fond of this sort of 
thing. The greatest joy in life is to be found in 
arranging and rearranging a library, and I seem 
to be in for joy enough to kill. What time are 
the — these amateur Thespians coming.^ 

Mrs. Perkins {looki7ig at her watch). They're 
due now ; it's half-past four. {^Sits down a7id 
opens play-book. Rehearses.) No, not for all 
the world would I do this thing, Lord Mud- 
dleton. There is no need to ask it of me. I 
am firm. I shall — 

Perkins. Oh, let up, my dear ! I've been 
getting that for breakfast, dinner, and tea for 
two weeks now, and I'm awfully tired of it. 
When I asked for a second cup of coffee at 
breakfast Sunday, you retorted, " No, not for 
all the world would I do this thing, Lord 
Muddleton !" When I asked you where my 
dress ties were, you informed me that it was 



The Fatal Message 89 

"what baseness," or words to that effect ; and 
so on, until I hardly know where I am at. 
{Catches sight of the chest?^ Hello! How did 
that happen to escape the general devasta- 
tion ? What are you going to do with that 
oak chest ? 

Mrs. Perkins. It is for the real earl to hide 
in just before he confronts Muddleton with 
the evidence of his crime, 

Perkins. But — that holds all my loose 
prints, Bess. By Jove! I can't have that, you 
know. You amateur counterfeiters have got 
to understand just one thing, I'll submit to 
the laundering of my manuscripts, the butler's- 
pantrying of my Cruikshanks, but I'll be 
hanged if I'll allow even a real earl, much less 
a base imitation of one, to wallow in my en- 
gravings, 

Mrs. Perkins. You needn't worry about 
your old engravings. They're perfectly safe. 
I've put them in the Saratoga trunk in the 
attic. {Rehearsing^ And if you ask it of me 
once again, I shall have to summon my ser- 
vants to have you shown the door. Henry 
Cobb is the friend of my girlhood, and — 



90 The Fatal Message 

Perkins. Henry Cobb be — 

Mrs. Perkins. Thaddeus ! 

Perkins. I don't care, Bess, if Henry Cobb 
was the only friend you ever had. I object 
to having my prints dumped into a Saratoga 
trunk in order that he may confront Muddle- 
ton and regain the lost estates of Puddingford 
by hiding in my chest. A gay earl Yardsley 
makes, anyhow; and as for Barlow, he looks 
like an ass in that yellow-chrysanthemum wig. 
No man with yellow hair like that could track 
such a villain as Henderson makes Muddle- 
ton out to be. Fact is, Henderson is the only 
decent part of the show. 

Mrs. Perkins {rehearsing). What if he is 
weak 7 Then shall I still more strongly show 
myself his friend. Poor ? Does not — 

Perkifis. Oh, I suppose it does — {Bell rings.) 
There comes this apology for a real earl, I 
fancy. Fillet him in myself. I suppose Jennie 
has got as much as she can do sweeping my 
manuscripts out of the laundry, and keeping 
my verses from scorching the wash. [Exit. 

Mrs. PerkiJis. It's too bad of Thaddeus to 
go on like this. As if I hadn't enough to 



The Fatal Message 91 

worry me without a cross husband to manage. 
Heigho ! 

Enter Perkins with Yardsley. Yardsley holds 
bicycle cap in hand. 
Yardsley. By Jove! I'm tired. Everything's 
been going wrong to-day. Overslept myself, 
to begin with, and somebody stole my hat at 
the club, and left me this bicycle cap in its 
place. How are you getting along, Mrs. Per- 
kins? You weren't letter perfect yesterday, 
you know. 

Mrs. Perkins. I'm getting it all right, I 
think. I've been rehearsing all day. 

Perkins. You bet your life on that, Henry 
Cobb, real Earl of Puddingford. If you aren't 
restored to your estates and title this night, it 
won't be for any lack of suffering on my part. 
Give me your biking cap, unless you want to 
use it in the play. I'll hang it up. [Exit. 

Yardsley. Thanks. {Looks about the room.) 
Everything here seems to be right. 
Perkins returns. 

Mrs. Perkins, {rehearsing). And henceforth, 
my lord, let us understand one another. 

Perkins. Certainly, my dear. I'll go and 



92 The Fatal Message 

have myself translated. Would you prefer 
me in French, German, or English ? 

Yardsley. I hope it goes all right to-night. 
But, I must say, I don't like the prospect. 
This beastly behavior of Henderson's has 
knocked me out. 

Perkins. What's the matter with Hender- 
son } 

Mrs, Perkins. He hasn't withdrawn, has 
he.^ 

Yardsley. That's just what he has done. 
He sent me word this morning. 

Mrs. Perkins. But what excuse does he 
ofTer.^ At the last moment, too ! 

Yardsley. None at all — absolutely. There 
was some airy persiflage in his note about 
having to go to Boston at six o'clock. Grand- 
mother's sick or something. He writes so 
badly I couldn't make out whether she was 
rich or sick. I fancy it's a little of both. 
Possibly if she wasn't rich he wouldn't care 
so much when she fell ill. That's the trouble 
with these New-Englanders, anyhow — they've 
always got grandmothers to fall down at cru- 
cial moments. Next time I go into this sort 



The Fatal Message 93 

of thing it'll be with a crowd without known 
ancestors. 

Perkins. 'Tisn't Chefs fault, though. You 
don't suspect him of having poisoned his 
grandmother just to get out of playmg, do 

you?" 

Mrs. Perkins. Oh, Thaddeus. do be seri- 
ous ! . 
Perkins. I was never more so, my dear. Poi- 
soning one's grandmother is no light crime. 

Yardsley, Well, I've a notion that the whole 
thing is faked up. Henderson has an idea 
that he's a little tin Booth, and just because I 
called him down the other night at our first 
rehearsal he's mad. That's the milk in the 
cocoanut, I think. He's one of those fellows 
you can't tell anything to, and when I kicked 
because he wore a white tie with a dinner 
coat, he got mad and said he was going to 
dress the part his own way or not at all. 
Perkins. I think he was right. 
Yardsley. Oh yes, of course I'm never right. 
What am I stage-manager for ? 

Perki7is. Oh, as for that, of course, you are 
the one in authority, but you were wrong 



94 The Fatal Message 

about ihe white tie and the dinner coat. He 
was a bogus earl, an adventurer, wasn't he? 

Yardsley. Yes, he was, but — 

Perkins. Well, no real earl would wear a 
white tie with a dinner coat unless he were 
visiting in America. I grant you that if he 
were going to a reception in New York he 
might wear a pair of golf trousers with a din- 
ner coat, but in this instance his dress simply 
showed his bogusity, as it were. He merely 
dressed the part. 

Yardsley. He doesn't want to make it too 
plain, however, so I was right after all. His 
villany is to come as a painful surprise. 

Mrs, Perkins. But what are we to do } 
Have you got anybody else to take his part.^ 

Yardsley. Yes. I telegraphed right off to 
Bradley, explained as far as I could in a tele- 
gram without using all the balance in the 
treasury, and he answered all right. Said he'd 
bone at the part all day, and would be here at 
five letter perfect. 

Mrs. Perkins {with a sigh of relief ). Good. 
He's very quick at learning a thing. I imag- 
ine it will be all right. I've known him to 



The Fatal Message 95 

learn a harder part than that in five hours. 
It '11 be pleasanter for Emma, too. She didn't 
Hke those scenes she had as Lady Amaranth 
the adventuress with Henderson. He kept 
her off the middle of the stage all the time ; 
but with her husband it will be different. 

Perkins. I'll bet on that ! No good-natured 
husband of a new women ever gets within a 
mile of the centre of the stage while she's on 
it. She'll have stage room to burn in her 
scenes with Brad. 

Mrs. Perkins. I think it was awfully mean 
of Mr. Henderson, though. 

Yardsley. Disgusting. 

Perkins. It was inconsiderate. So hard on 
his grandmother, too, to be compelled to 
knock under just to get him out of a disagree- 
ble situation. She ought to disinherit him. 

Yardsley. Oh, it's easy enough to be sar- 
castic. 

Perki)is. That's so. Bob ; that's why I never 
am. It's commonplace. {Bell ri?igs.) Ah, 
there's the rest of the troupe, I guess. [Exil. 

Yardsley {looking at his watch). It's about 
time. They're twenty minutes late. 



96 The Fatal Message 

Mrs. Perkins, {reheasing). So once for all, 
Lord Muddleton — {derisively) — ha, ha ! Lord 
Muddleton! that is amusing. You — Lord 
Muddleton ! Ha, ha ! Once for all. Lord 
Muddleton, I acquaint you with my determi- 
nation. I shall not tell Henry Cobb what 
I have discovered, since I have promised, 
but none the less he shall know. Walls 
have ears — even that oaken chest by yinder 
wonder — 

Yardsley {irritated). Excuse me, Mrs. Per- 
kins, but really you must get that phrase 
right. You've called it yinder wonder at 
every rehearsal we've had so far. I know it's 
difficult to get right. Yonder window is one 
of those beastly combinations that playwrights 
employ to make the Thespian's pathway to 
fame a rocky one , but you must get over it, 
and say it right. Practise it for an hour, if 
need be — yonder window, yonder winder — I 
mean, yonder window — until it comes easy. 

Mrs. Perkins {meekly). I have, and it doesn't 
seem to do any good. I've tried and tried to 
get it right, but yonder window is all I can 
say. 



The Fatal Message 97 

Yardsley. But yinder window is — I should 
say, yonder window is correct. 

Mrs. Perkins. Well, I'm just going to change 
it, that's all. It shall be yonder casement. 

Yardsley. Good idea. Only don't say yon- 
der basement by mistake. 

Enter Pevliins, followed by Barlow, 

Perkins. Here's Mr. Featherhead. He's re- 
hearsing too. As I opened the door he said, 
"Give me good-morrow." 

Barlow {smilitig). Yes ; and Thaddeus re- 
plied, "Good-yesterday, me friend," in tones 
which reminded me of Irving with bronchitis. 
What's this I hear about Henderson's grand- 
mother ? 

Yardsley. Thrown up the part. 

Barlow. His grandmother ? 

Yardsley. No — idiot — Henderson. He's 
thrown up his grandmother — oh, hang it! — 
you know what I mean. 

Mrs. Perkins. I hope you're not going to 
net gervous, Mr. Yardsley. If you break 
down, what on earth will become of the rest 
of us? 

Yardsley. I hope not — but I am. I'm as 



98 The Fatal Message 

nervous as a cat living its ninth life. Here 
we are three or four hours before the per- 
formance, and no one knows whether we'll be 
able to go through it or not. My reputation 
as a manager is at stake. Barlow, how are 
you getting along on those lines in the rev- 
elation scene ? 

Barlow. Had 'em down fine on the cable- 
car as I came up. Ha-ha ! People thought I 
was crazy, I guess. I was so full of it I kept 
repeating it softly to myself all the way up; 
but when we got to that Fourteenth Street 
curve the car gave a fearful lurch and fairly 
shook the words "villanous viper" out of 
me; and as I was standing when we began 
the turn, and was left confronting a testy old 
gentleman upon whose feet I had trodden 
twice, at the finish, I nearly got into trouble. 
Perkins {with a laugh ). Made a scene, eh } 
Barlow {joi?ting in the laugh). Who 
wouldn't.^ Each time I stepped on his foot 
he glared — regular Macbeth stare — like this : 
"Is this a jagger which I see before me.'*" 
{Sttits actioji to word.) But I never let on I 
saw, but continued to rehearse. When the 



The Fatal Message 99 

lurch came, however, and I toppled over on 
top of him, grabbed his shoulders in my hands 
to keep from sprawling in his lap, and hissed 
"villanous viper" in his face, he was inclined 
to resent it forcibly. 

Yardsley. I don't blame him. Seems to me 
a man of your intelligence ought to know bet- 
ter than to rehearse on a cable-car, anyhow, to 
say nothing of stepping on a man's corns. 

Barlow. Of course I apologized ; but he was 
a persistent old codger, and demanded an ex- 
planation of my epithet. 

Perki7ts. It's a wonder he didn't have you 
put off. A man doesn't like to be insulted 
even if he does ride on the cable. 

Barlow. Oh, I appeased him. I told him I 
was rehearsing. That I was an amateur ac- 
tor. 

Mrs. Perkins. And of course he was satisfied. 

Barlow. Yes ; at least I judge so. He said 
that my confession was humiliation enough, 
without his announcing to the public what he 
thought I was ; and he added, to the man 
next him, that he thought the public was ex- 
posed to enough danger on the cable cars 



joo The Fatal Message 

without having lunatics thrust upon them at 
every turning. 

Perkins. He must have been a bright old 
man. 

Mrs. Perkins. Or a very crabbed old person. 

Barlow. Oh, well, it was an experience, but 
it rather upset me, and for the h'fe of me I 
haven't been able to remember the opening 
Hues of the scene since. 

Perkins. Well, if the audience drive you off 
the stage, you can sue the cable company. 
They ought to be careful how they lurch a 
man's brains out. 

Yardsley. That's right — joke ahead. It's 
fun for you. All you've got to do is to sit 
out, in front and pull the curtain up and down 
when we ring a bell. You're a great one to 
talk about brains, you are. It's a wonder to 
me you don't swoon under your responsibility. 

Mrs. Perkins {rehearsing). So once for all, 
as he says, so say I — 

PerkiJts. Ah ! Indeed ! You take his part, 
do you ? 

Mrs. Perkins (rehearsing). You must leave 
this house at once and forever. I once thought 



The Fatal Message loi 

I loved you, but now all is changed, and I take 
this opportunity to thank my deliverer, Fen- 
derson Featherhead — 

Pe7'kins. Oh — ah — rehearsing. I see. I 
thought you'd gone over to the enemy, my 
dear. Featherhead, step up and accept the 
lady's thanks. Cobb, join me in the dining- 
room, and we'll drown our differences in tast- 
ing the punch, which, between you and me, is 
likely to be the best part of to-night's func- 
tion, for I made it myself — though, if Tom 
Harkaway is in the audience, and Bess follows 
out her plan of having the flowing bowl within 
reach all the evening, rm_ afraid it'll need an 
under-study along about nine o'clock. He's a 
dry fellow, that Harkaway ._^ 

\_Exzt Perkins, dragging Yardsley by the 
arm. 

Barlow {calling after theni). Don't you touch 
it. Bob. It's potent stuff. One glass may post- 
pone the performance. 

Yardsley {from behind the scenes). Never 
fear for me, my boy. Fve got a head, I have. 

Barlow. Well, don't get another. {Turning 
to Mrs. Perkins.) Suppose we rehearse that 



102 The Fatal Message 

scene where I acquaint you with Cobb's real 
position in life ? 

Mrs. Perkins. Very well. I'm ready. I'm 
to sit here, am I not.'' \_Seats herself by table. 

Barlow. And I come in here. {Begms.) Ah, 
Lady Ellen, I am glad to find you alone, for I 
have that to say — 

Mrs. Perkms. Won't you be seated, Mr. 
Featherhead } It was such a delightful sur- 
prise to see you at the Duchess of Barncastle's 
last evening. I had supposed you still in Ire- 
land. 

Barlow {aside). Good. She little thinks that 
I have just returned from Australia, where I 
have at last discovered the identity of the real 
Earl of Puddingford, as well as that of this 
bogus Muddleton, who, by his nefarious crime, 
has deprived Henry Cobb of his patrimony, 
of his title, aye, even of his name. She little 
wots that this— this adventurer who has so 
strongly interested her by his nepotic — 

Mrs. Perkins {interruptmg). Hypnotic, Mr. 
Barlow. 

Barlow. What did I say.? 

Mrs. Perkins. Nepotic. 



The Fatal Message 103 

Barlow. How stupid of me ! I'll begin again. 

Mrs. Perkins {desperately). Oh, pray don't. 
Go on from where you left off. That's a fear- 
fully long aside, anyhow, and I go nearly crazy 
every time you say it, I don't know what to 
do with myself. It's easy enough for Mr. 
Yardsley to say occupy yourself somehow, but 
what I want to know is, how ? I can't look in- 
quiringly at you all that time, waiting for you 
to say " Ireland ! Oh, yes— yes — just over from 
Dublin." I can't lean against the mantel-piece 
and gaze into the fire, because the mantel- 
piece is only canvas, and would fall down if I 
did. 

Barlow. It's a long aside, Mrs. Perkins, but 
it's awfully important, and I don't see how we 
can cut it down. It's really the turning-point 
of the play, in which I reveal the true state of 
affairs to the audience. 

Mrs. Perkins (wztk a sigli). I suppose that's 
true. I'll have to stand it. But can't I be 
doing some sewing } 

Barlow. Certainly not. You are the daugh- 
ter of a peer. They never sew. You might 
be playing a piano, but there's hardly room on 



104 The Fatal Message 

the stage for that, and, besides, it would inter- 
fere with my aside, which needs a hush to be 
made impressive. Where did I leave off? 

Mrs. Perkzjis. Hypnotic power. 

Barlow. Oh yes. {Resumes rehearsing) She 
little wots that this — this adventurer who has 
so strangely interested her with his hypnotic 
power is the man who twenty years ago forged 
her father's name to the title-deeds of Burn- 
ington, drove him to his ruin, and subsequent- 
ly, through a likeness so like as to bewilder 
and confuse even a mother's eyes, has forced 
the rightful Earl of Puddingford out into a 
cruel world, to live and starve as Henry Cobb. 

iBell. 

Mrs. Perkins. Ah, I fancy the Bradleys are 
here at last. I do hope Edward knows his part. 
Enter Yardsley. 

Yardsley. They've come, and we can begin 
at last. 

Enter Perkins, Miss Andrews, and Mr. a7id 
Mrs. Bradley. 

Mrs. Perkins. Take off your things, Emma. 
Let me take your cloak, Dorothy. Does Ed- 
ward feel equal — 



The Fatal Message 105 

Mrs. Bradley. He says so. Knows it word 
for word, he says, though I've been so busy 
with my own— [ They go out talking. 

Yardsley. Well, Brad, how goes it ? Know 
your part ? 

Bradley. Like a book. Bully part, too. 

Barlow. Glad you Hke it. 

Bradley. Can't help liking it ; it's immense ! 
Particularly where I acquaint the heroine 
with the villany that — ■ 

Barlow. You ? Why — 
Enter Mrs. Bradley, Miss Andrews, and Mrs. 
Perkins. 

Mrs. Perkins {to Bradley). So glad you're 
going to play with us. 

Bradley. So am I. It's a great pleasure. 
Felt rather out in the cold until — 

Barlow. But, I say. Brad, you don't — 
Yardsley. Howdy do, Mrs. Bradley .^ Good- 
afternoon, Miss Andrews. We all seem to be 
here now, so let's begin. We're a half-hour 
late already. 

Barlow. I'm ready, but I want to — 
Yardsley. Never mind what you want, Jack. 
We haven't time for any more talking. It '11 



io6 The Fatal Message 

take us an hour and a half, and we've got to 
hustle. All off stage now except Mrs. Per- 
kins. {All go out ; Yardsley rings bell.) Hi, 
Perkins, that's your cue ! 

Perkins. What for ? 

Yardsley. Oh, hang it! — raise the curtain, 
will you } 

Perkins. With pleasure. As I understand 
this thing, one bell signifies raise curtain when 
curtain's down ; drop curtain when curtain is 
up. 

Yardsley. Exactly. You know your part, 
anyhow. If you remember not to monkey 
with the curtain except when the bell rings, 
and then change its condition, no matter 
what it may be, you can't go wrong. Now 
begin. {Bell. Perkins raises curtain.) Now, 
of course, I'm not supposed to be on the 
stage, but I'll stay here and prompt you. En- 
ter Lady Ellen. Come along, Mrs. Perkins. 
Please begin. 

Mrs. Perkins. I thought we'd decided that 
I was to be sitting here when the curtain went 
up? 

Yardsley. So we did. I'd forgotten that. 



The Fatal Message 107 

We'll begin all over again. Perkins, drop that 
curtain. Perkins! 
Perkins. What? 
Yardsley. Drop the curtain. 
Perkins. Where's the bell? I didn't hear 
any bell ring. 

Yardsley. Oh, never mind the bell ! Let 

her down. 

PerkiJis. I beg your pardon, but I positively 
refuse. I believe in doing things right. I'm 
not going to monkey. Ring that bell, and 
down she comes ; otherwise— 

Yardsley. Tut ! You are very tiresome this 
afternoon, Thaddeus. Mrs. Perkins, we'll go 
ahead without dropping the curtain. Now 
take your place. 

[Mrs. Perkins seats herself by table, picks 
up a book, and begins to read. 
Mrs. Perkins {after an interval throwing 
book down with a sigh). Heigho ! I cannot 
seem to concentrate my mind upon any- 
thing to-night. I wonder why it is that 
once a woman gives her heart into another's 
keeping- VBell rings. Perkins lets curtain 
drop. 



io8 The Fatal Message 

Vardsley. What the deuce did you drop 
that curtain for, Thaddeus? 

Perkitis. The bell rang, didn't it? 

Yardsley. Yes, you idiot, but that's supposed 
to be the front-door bell. Lady Amaranth is 
about to arrive — 

Perkins. Well, how was I to know? Your 
instructions to me were positive. Don't mon- 
key with curtain till bell rings. W^hen bell 
rings, if down, pull her up; if up, pull her 
down. I'm not a connoisseur on bells — 

Yardsley. You might pay some attention to 
the play. 

Perkins. Now look here. Bob. I don't want 
to quarrel with you, but it seems to me that 
I've got enough to do without paying atten- 
tion to your part of the show. What am I ? 
First place, host ; second place, head usher ; 
third place, curtain - manager; fourth place, 
fire department; fifth place, Bess says if chil- 
dren holler, go up and see what's the matter 
— other words, nurse — and on top of this 
you say keep an eye on the play. You must 
think I've as many eyes as a President's mes- 
sage. 



The Fatal Message 109 

Mrs. Perkins. Oh dear, Teddy ! do behave. 
It's simple enough — 

Perki7ts. Simple enough ? Well, I like 
that. How am I to tell one bell from an- 
other if — 

Yardsley {dryly). I suppose if the clock 
strikes ten you'll seesaw the curtain up and 
down ten times, once for each stroke — eh .^^ 

Bradley {poking his head in at the door). 
What's the matter in here.'^ Emma's been 
waiting for her cue like a hundred-yards run- 
ner before the pistol. 

Perkins. Oh, it's the usual trouble with 
Yardsley. He wants me to chaperon the uni- 
verse. 

Yardsley. It's the usual row with you. You 
never want to do anything straight. You 
seem to think that curtain's an elevator, and 
you're the boy — yanking it up and down at 
your pleasure, and — 

Mrs. Perkins. Oh, please don't quarrel! 
Can't you see, Ted, it's growing late .'' We'll 
never have the play rehearsed, and it's barely 
three hours now before the audience will ar- 
rive. 



1 10 The Fatal Message 

Perkins. Very well — I'll give in — only I 
think you ought to have different bells — 

Yardsley. I'll have a trolley-car gong for 
you, if it '11 only make you do the work prop- 
erly. Have you got a bicycle bell ? 

Mrs. Perkins. Yes ; that will do nicely for 
the curtain, and the desk push-button bell 
will do for the front-door bell. Have you 
got that in your mind, Teddy dear.^ 

Perkins. I feel as if I had the whole bicycle 
in my mind. I can feel the wheels. Bike for 
curtain, push for front door. That's all right. 
I wouldn't mind pushing for the front door my- 
self. All ready } All right. In the absence 
of the bicycle bell, I'll be its under-study for 
once. B-r-r-r-r-r-r-r ! {^Raises curtain. 

Yardsley. Now, Mrs. Perkins, begin with 
" I wonder why — " 

Mrs. Perkins {rehearsing). I wonder why it 
is that once a woman gives her heart into 
another's keeping — {Bell:) Ah, the bell. It 
must be he at last. He is late this evening. 
Enter Miss Andrews as maid, with card on 
tray. 

Miss Andrews. Lady Amaranth, me luddy. 



The Fatal Message 1 1 1 

Yardsley. Lydy, Miss Andrews, lydy — not 
luddy. 

Miss Andrews. Lydy Amaranth, me lady. 

Yardsley. And please be consistent with 
your dialect. If it's Lydy Amaranth, it's Lydy 
Ellen. 

Miss Andrews. Lydy Amaranth, me lydy. 

Mrs. Perkins. What } Lydy Amaranth ? 
She.? 

Yardsley. Oh dear ! Excuse me, Mrs. Per- 
kins, but you are not the maid, and cockney 
isn't required of you. You must not say lydy. 
Lady is — 

Airs. Perkins {resignedly). What.? Lady Am- 
aranth .? She? What can she want? Show 
her up. [Exit Miss Andrews. 

Perkins. That's a first-class expression for 
an adventuress. Show her up! Gad! She 
ought to be shown up. 

Mrs. Perkins. What can she want ? 
Eiiter Mrs. Bradley. 

Mrs. Bradley. Ah, my dear Lady Ellen ! 
What delight to find you at home! {Aside.) 
He is not here, and yet I could have sworn — 

Mrs. Perkins. To what am I to attribute 



112 The Fatal Message 

this pleasure, Lady Amaranth ? I do not pre- 
sume to think that you have come here with- 
out some other motive than that of a mere 
desire to see me. I do not suppose that even 
you pretend that since the contretemps of 
Tuesday night at the Duchess of Barncastle's 
our former feeling — 

Mrs, Bradley. Ellen, I have come to tell you 
something. To save you from a vile con- 
spiracy. 

Mrs. Perkins. I am quite well able, Lady 
Amaranth, to manage my own affairs — 

Mrs. Bradley. But you do not know. You 
love Lord Muddleton — 

Mrs. PerkiJis {toying with her fan). Oh ! 
Indeed ! And who, pray, has taken you into 
my confidence .'' I was not aware — 

Mrs. Bradley. Hear me, Ellen — 

Mrs. Perkins. Excuse me, Lady Amaranth ! 
but you have forgotten that it is only to my 
friends that I am known as — 

Mrs. Bradley. Then Lady Ellen, if it must 
be so. I know what you do not — that Henry 
Cobb is an escaped convent — 

Yardsley. Convict, not convent. 



The Fatal Message 113 

Mrs. Bradley. Is an escaped convict, and — 

Mrs. Perkins. I am not interested in Henry 
Cobb. 

Mrs, Bradley. But he is in you, Ellen Aber- 
crombie. He is in you, and with the aid of 
Fenderson Featherhead — 

{^Bell. Perkins lets curtain drop half-way, 
but reinejnbers in time, and pulls it up 
again. 

Perkins. Beg pardon. String slipped. 

Mrs. Bradley. Too late. Oh, if he had only 
waited ! 

Enter Miss Andrews. 

Miss Andrews. Mr. Featherhead, Leddy Ei- 
len. 

Yardsley. Ellen, Ellen ; and lydy, not leddy. 

Mrs. Bradley. Hear me first, I beg. 

Mrs. Perkins. Show him in, Mary. Lady 
Amaranth, as you see, I am engaged. I really 
must be excused. Good-night. 

Mrs. Bradley {aside). Foiled ! Muddleton 
will be exposed. Ah, if I could only have 
broken the force of the blow! {Aloud.) 
Lady Ellen, I will speak. Fenderson Feather- 
head — 

8 



1 14 The Fatal Message 



E7tter Bradley atid Barlow together. 

Both. Is here, Lady Amaranth. 
{Each tries to motion the other off the stage. 

Yardsley. What the deuce does this mean ? 
What do you think this play is — an Uncle Tojn 
combination with two Topsys ? 

Barlow. I told him to keep out, but he said 
that Fenderson Featherhead was his cue. 

Bradley {indignantly). Well, so it is ; there's 
the book. 

Yardsley. Oh, nonsense. Brad ! Don't be 
idiotic. The book doesn't say anything of 
the sort. 

Bradley. But I say it does. If you — 

Barlow. It's all rot for you to behave like 
this, Bradley. 

Perkins. Isn't it time something happened 
to the curtain } The audience will get pan- 
icky if they witness any such lack of harmony 
as this. I will draw a veil over the painful 
scene. B-r-r-r-r. {Drops curtain.) B-r-r-r-r. 

[Raises it again. 

Yardsley. We won't dispute the matter, 

Bradley. You are wrong, and that's all there 

is about it. Now do get off the stage and let 



( 



The Fatal Message 1 1 5 

us go ahead. Perkins, for Heaven's sake, give 
that curtain a rest, will you ? 

Perkins. I was only having a dress-rehearsal 
on my own account. Bob. Bike bell, curtain. 
Push bell, front door. Trolley gong, noth- 
ing— 

Bradley. Well, if you fellows won't — 

Yardsley {taking him by the arm and walk- 
ing him to side of stage). Never mind. Brad ; 
you've made a mistake, that's all. We all 
make mistakes at times. Get off, like a 
good fellow. You don't come on for ten 
minutes yet. {Exit Bradley, scratching his 
head in puzzled meditation^ Go ahead now, 
Barlow. 

Mrs. Bradley. But, Mr. Yardsley, Edward 
has — 

Yardsley. We'll begin with your cue, Mrs. 
Bradley. Fenderson Featherhead — 

Barlow. Is here, Lady Amaranth. 

Mrs. Bradley. But — " 

Yardsley. No, no ! Your word isn't " but," 
Mrs. Bradley. It's {cojisulting book) — it's : " In- 
solent ! You will cross my path once too 
often, and then — 



ii6 The Fatal Message 

Enter Bradley. 

Mrs. Bradley. I know that, but I don't say 
that to him ! 

Bradley. Of course not. She says it to 
me. 

Barlow. Well, of all the stupidity — 

Perkins. Another unseemly fracas. Another 
veil. B-r-r-r-r. {Drops ctirtai?i.) There may 
be a hitch in the play, but there won't be in 
this curtain. I tell you that right now. B-r-r-r-r. 

[^Razses curtaiii. 

Mrs. Perkins. Well, I don't pretend to un- 
derstand the difficulty. She certainly does 
say that to Featherhead. 

Barlow. Of course ! — it's right there in the 
book. 

Bradley. That's exactly what I say. It's in 
the book ; but you would come on. 

Barlow. Well, why shouldn't I ? 
Enter Miss Andrews. 

Miss Aiidrews. What seems to be the trou- 
ble ? 

Perkins. I give it up. Collision somewhere 
up the road. 

Yardsley {turning over the leaves of the 



The Fatal Message 117 

play-book). Oh, I see the trouble— it's all right. 
Bradley is mixed up a little, that's all. " Fen- 
derson Featherhead " is his cue— but it cornea 
later, Brad. 

Bradley. Later? Well {glaiices in book)— no 
— it comes now. 

Barlow. Are you blind .^ Can you read? 
See there ! \^Poi7its into book. 

Yardsley. No— you keep still. Jack. Fll fix 
it. See here, Bradley. This is the place you 
are thinking of. When Cobb says to Lady 
Ellen "Fenderson Featherhead," you enter 
the room, and in a nervous aside you mutter : 
" What, he ! Does he again dare to cross my 
path ?" That's the way of it. 

Barlow. Certainly — that's it. Brad. Now 
get ofif, and let me go on, will you ? 

Mrs. Perkins. Fm sure it's a perfectly nat- 
ural error, Mr. Bradley. 

Mrs. Bradley. But he's right, my dear Bess. 
The others are wrong. Edward doesn't— 

Bradley. I don't care anything about it, but 
I'm sure I don't know what else to do. If I 
am to play Fenderson— 

Barlow {in amazement). You ? 



Ii8 The Fatal Message 

Yardsley {aghast), Fenderson ? By all that 
is lovely, what part have you learned ? 

Bradley. The one you told me to learn in 
your message — Featherhead, of course. 

Barlow. But that's my part ! 

Mrs. Perkins. Of course it is, Mr. Bradley. 
Mr. Barlow is to be — 

Mrs. Bradley. But that's what Edward was 
told. I saw the message myself. 

Yardsley {sinking into a chair dejectedly). 
Why, Ed Bradley ! I never mentioned Feath- 
erhead. You were to be Muddleton ! 

Bradley. Me.^ 

Mrs. Bradley. What ? 

Yardsley. Certainly. There's nothing the 
matter with Barlow, and he's cast for Feath- 
erhead. You've learned the wrong part ! 

Bradley {searching his pockets). Here's the 
telegram. There {takes message from pocket), 
read that. There are my instructions. 

Yardsley {grasps telegram a?td reads it. 
Drops it to floor). Well, Fll be jiggered ! 

[Buries his face in his hands. 

Mrs. Perkins {picking tip message and read- 
ing alotid). "Can you take Fenderson's part 



The Fatal Message 1 19 

in to-night's show ? Answer at once. Yards- 
ley." 

Barlow. Well, that's a nice mess. You 
must have paresis, Bob, 

Perkins. I was afraid he'd get it sooner or 
later. You need exercise, Yardsley. Go pull 
that curtain up and down a half-dozen times 
and it '11 do you good. 

Bradley. That telegram lets me out. 

Mrs. Bradley. I should say so. 

Perki7ts. Lets us all out, seems to me. 

Yardsley. But — I wrote Henderson, not 
Fenderson. That jackass of a telegraph oper- 
ator is responsible for it all. " Will you take 
Henderson's part^?" is what I wrote, and 
he's gone and got it Fenderson. Confound 
his — 

Mrs. Perkins. But what are we going to 
do .'' It's quarter-past six now, and the cur- 
tain is to rise at 8.30. 

Perkins. I'll give 'em my unequalled imita- 
tion of Sandow lifting the curtain with one 
hand. Thus. [Raises curtain with right hand. 

Yardsley. For goodness' sake, man, be se- 
rious. There are seventy-five people coming 



I20 The Fatal Message 

here to see this performance, and they've paid 
for their tickets. 

Mrs. Perkins. It's perfectly awful. We can't 
do it at all unless Mr. Bradley will go right 
up stairs now and learn — 

Mrs. Bradley. Oh, that's impossible. He's 
learned nearly three hundred lines to-day al- 
ready. Mr. Barlow might — 

Barlow. I couldn't think of it, Mrs. Bradley, 
I've got as much as I can do remembering 
what lines I have learned. 

Perkins. It would take you a week to for- 
get your old part completely enough to do the 
other well. You'd be playing both parts, the 
way Irving does when he's irritated, before 
you knew it. 

Yardsley. I'm sure I don't know what to 
do. 

Perki7is. Give it up, eh.? What are you 
stage-manager for ? If 1 didn't own the house, 
I'd suggest setting it on fire ; but I do, and 
it isn't fully insured. 

Mrs. Perkins. Perhaps Miss Andrews and 
Mr. Yardsley could do their little scene from 
Romeo and Juliet. 



The Fatal Message 121 

Mrs. Bradley. Just the thing. 

Yardslcy. But I haven't a suitable costume. 

Perkins. I'll lend you my golf trousers, and 
Bess has an old shirt-waist you could wear 
with 'em. Piece it out a little so that you 
could get into it, and hang the baby's toy 
sword at your side, and carry his fireman's 
hat under your arm, and you'd make a dandy- 
looking Romeo. Some people might think 
you were a new woman, but if somebody were 
to announce to the audience that you were 
not that, but the Hon. R. Montague, Esq., it 
would be all right and exceedingly amusing. 
I'll do the announcing with the greatest of 
pleasure. Really think I'd enjoy it. 

Miss Andrews. I think it would be much 
better to get up Mrs. Jarley's waxworks. 

Perkins. Oh dear, Miss Andrews, never. 
Mrs. Jarley awakens too many bitter memories 
in me. I was Mrs. Jarley once, and— 

Yardsley. It must have been awful. If 
there is anything in life that could be more 
horrible than you, with your peculiar style of 
humor, trying to do Jarley, I — 

Perkins. Oh, well, what's the odds what we 



122 The Fatal Message 

do ? We're only amateurs, anyhow. Yardsley 
can put on a pair of tight boots, and give us an 
impression of Irving, or perhaps an imitation 
of the Roman army at the battle of Philippi, 
and the audience wouldn't care, as long as 
they had a good supper afterwards. It all 
rests with Martenelli whether it's a go to-night. 
If he doesn't spoil the supper, it '11 be all 
right. I have observed that the principal 
factors of success at amateur dramatics are 
an expert manipulation of the curtain, and a 
first-class feed to put the audience in a good- 
humor afterwards. Even if Martenelli does go 
back on us, you'll have me with the curtain — 

Mrs. Perkins. Thaddeus ! 

Yardsley. By Jove ! that's a good idea — we 
have got you. You can read Henderson's 
part ^ 

Perkins. What— I .? 

Barlow. Certainly. 

Bradley. Just the very thing. 

Miss Andrews. Splendid idea. 

Perkins. Oh — but I say — I can't, you know. 
Nonsense ! I can't read. 

Bardsley. I've often suspected that you 



The Fatal Message 123 

couldn't, my dear Thaddeus ; but this time 
you must. 

Perkins. But the curtain— the babies— the 
audience— the ushing— the fire department- 
it is too much. I'm not an octopus. 

Barlow {taking him by the arm and pushing 
him into chair). You can't get out of it, Ted. 
Here— read up. There— take my book. 

[ Thrusts play-book into his hand. 

Bradley. Here's mine, too, Thaddeus. Read 
'em both at once, and then you'll have gone 
over it twice. 

[ Throws his book into Perkins's lap. 

Perkins. I tell you— 

Mrs. Perkins. Just this once, Teddy— please 
— for me. 

Yardsley. You owe it to your position, Per- 
kins. You are the only man here that knows 
anything about anything. You've frequently 
said so. You were doing it all, anyhow, you 
l^now— and you're host— the audience are your 
guests— and you're so clever and— 

Perkins. But — 

Enter Jennie. 

Jennie. Dinner is served, ma'am. [Exit. 



124 The Fatal Message 

Yardslcy. Good ! Perk, I'll be your under- 
study at dinner, while you are studying up. 
Ladies and gentlemen, kindly imagine that I 
am host, that Perkins does not exist. Come 
along, Mrs. Bradley. Miss Andrews, will you 
take my other arm.? I'll escort Lady Ama- 
ranth and the maid out. We'll leave the two 
Featherheads to fight it out for the Lady El- 
len. By-by, Thaddeus ; don't shirk. I'll come 
in after the salade course and hear you, and if 
you don't know your lesson I'll send you to 
bed without your supper 

\_All go out, leaving Perkins alone. 
Perkins {forci7tg a laiigh^. Ha! ha! ha! 
Good joke, confound your eyes! Humph! 
very well. I'll do it. Whole thing, eh.? Cur- 
tain, babies, audience, host. All right, my no- 
ble Thespians, wait ! {Shakes fist at the door.) 
I will do the whole thing. Wait till they ring 
you up, O curtain ! Up you will go, but then 
— then will I come forth and read that book 
from start to finish, and if any one of 'em 
ventures to interfere I'll drop thee on their 
most treasured lines. They little dream how 
much they are in the power of you and me ! 



The Fatal Message 125 

Enter Jennie. 
Jeimie. Mrs. Perkins says aren't you coming 
to dinner, sir ; and Mr. Yardsley says the soup 
is getting cold, sir. 

Perkins. In a minute, Jennie. Tell Mrs. 
Perkins that I am just learning the last ten 
lines of the third act ; and as for Mr. Yards- 
ley, kindly insinuate to him that he'll find the 
soup quite hot enough at 8.30. 

[£".r/'/ Jennie. Perkins sits down, ajid, tak- 
ing up two books of the play, one in each 
ha7id, begifts to read. 
[Curtain] 



A PROPOSAL UNDER DIFFICULTIES 



Characters : 

Robert Yardsley,) .^ . ^, , j i- nr- a j 

^ „ > suitors for t/ie hand of Miss A ndrews. 

Jack Barlow, ) 

Dorothy Andrews, a jnuch-loved young -woman. 

Jennie, a housemaid. 

Hicks, a coachman, who does 7iot appear. 

The scene is laid in a fashionable New York 
drawing -roo?n. The time is late in October, 
and Wednesday afternoofi. The curtain ris- 
ing shows an empty room. A bell rings. 
After a pause thefroiit door is heard opening 
and closing. Enter Yardsley through por- 
tiere at rear of room. 

Yardsley. Ah ! So far so good ; but I wish 
it were over. I've had the nerve to get as far 
as the house and into it, but how much fur- 
ther my courage will carry me I can't say. 
Confound it ! Why is it, I wonder, that men 
get so rattled when they're head over heels 



A Proposal Under Difficulties 127 

in love, and want to ask the fair object of their 
affections to wed? I can't see. Now I'm 
brave enough among men. I'm not afraid of 
anything that walks, except Dorothy Andrews, 
and generally I'm not afraid of her. Stopping 
runaway teams and talking back to impudent 
policemen have been my delight. I've even 
been courageous enough to submit a poem in 
person to the editor of a comic weekly, and 
yet here this afternoon I'm all of a tremble. 
And for what reason ? Just because I've 
co-come to ask Dorothy Andrews to change 
her name to Mrs. Bob Yardsley; as if that 
were such an unlikely thing for her to do. 
Gad ! I'm almost inclined to despise myself. 
{Surveys himself zn the mirror at one end of 
the room. Theii walki?ig up to it and peering 
intently at his reflection, he cojttinues.) Bah ! 
you coward ! Afraid of a woman — a sweet 
little woman like Dorothy. You ought to be 
ashamed of yourself, Bob Yardsley. She won't 
hurt you. Brace up and propose like a man 
— like a real lover who'd go through fire 
for her sake, and all that. Ha! That's easy 
enough to talk about, but how shall I put it} 



128 A Proposal Under Difficulties 

That's the question. Let me see. How do men 
do it ? I ought to buy a few good novels and 
select the sort of proposal I like ; but not hav- 
ing a novel at hand, I must invent my own. 
How will it be ? Something like this, I fancy. 
{The portieres are parted, «;/<'/ Jennie, the viaid, 
enters. Yardsley does not observe her entra7ice) 
I'll get down on my knees. A man on his 
knees is a pitiable object, and pity, they say, 
is akin to love. Maybe she'll pity me, and 
after that — well, perhaps pity's cousin will 
arrive. {The maid advances, but Yardsley is 
so intent upon his proposal that he still fails to 
observe her. She stands back of the sofa, while 
he, gazing dozumuard, kneels before it.) I'll 
say : " Divine creature ! At last we are alone, 
and I — ah — I can speak freely the words that 
have been in my heart to say to you for so 
long — oh, so long a time." (Jennie appears 
surprised.) " I liave never even hinted at how 
I feel towards you. I have concealed my love, 
fearing lest by too sudden a betrayal of my 
feelings I should lose all." {Aside.) Now for 
a little allusion to the poets. Poetry, they 
say, is a great thing for proposals. "You 



A Proposal Under Difficulties 129 

know, dearest, you must know, how the poet 
has phrased it — ' Fain would I fall but that I 
fear to climb.' But now — now I must speak. 




DIVINE creature' 



An Opportunity like this may not occur again. 
Will you — will you be my wife ?" 

[Jennie £-zves a little scream of delight. 
Jennie. Oh, Mr. Yardsley, this is so suddent 
like and unexpected, and me so far beneath 
you ! 

[Yardsley looks tcp a7id is covered with 
confusio7i. 
Yardsley. Great Scott ! What have I done ? 



i^o A Proposal Under Difficulties 

Jennie. But of course it ain't for the likes 
of me to say no to — 

Yardsley {rising). For Heaven's sake, Jen- 
nie — dobesensi — Don't — say — Jennie, why 
—ah— {Aside) Oh, confound it ! What the 
deuce shall I say? What's the matter with 
my tongue ? Where's my vocabulary ? A 
word ! a word ! my kingdom for a word ! 
{Aloud) Now, Jen — 

Jennie {coyly). I has been engaged to Mr. 
Hicks, the coach gentleman, sir, but — 

Yardsley. Good ! good ! I congratulate you, 
Jennie. Hicks is a very fine fellow. Drives 
like a — like a driver, Jennie, a born driver. 
I've seen him many a time sitting like a king 
on his box — yes, indeed. Noticed him often. 
Admired him. Gad, Jennie, I'll see him my- 
self and tell him ; and what is more, Jennie, 
I'll — I'll give Hicks a fine present. 

Jennie. Yes, sir; I has no doubt as how 
you'll be doin' the square thing by Hicks, for, 
as I was a-sayin', I has been engaged like to 
him, an' he has some rights ; but I think as 
how, if I puts it to him right like, and tells 
him what a nice gentleman you are {a ring is 



A Proposal Under Difficulties 131 

heard at the front door), it'll be all right, sir. 
But there goes the bell, and I must run, Mr. 
Yardsley. {Ecstatically kissing her hand:) 
Bob! 

Yardsley {with a convidsive gasp). Bob? 
Jennie ! You— er— you misun— (Jennie, with 
a smile of joy and an ecstatic glance at Yards- 
ley, dances from the room to attend the door. 
Yardsley throws himself into a chair.) Well, 
I'll be teetotally— Awh ! It's too dead easy 
proposing to somebody you don't know you 
are proposing to. What a kettle of fish this 
is, to be sure ! Oh, pshaw ! that woman can't 
be serious. She must know I didn't mean it 
for her. But if she doesn't, good Lord ! what 
becomes of me ? {Rises, and paces up and 
down the roojn nervously. After a ?nofnent he 
pauses before the glass.) I ought to be consid- 
erably dishevelled by this. I feel as if I'd been 
drawn through a knot-hole— or— or dropped 
into a stone-crusher— that's it, a stone-crusher 
—a ten million horse -power stone -crusher. 
Let's see how you look, you poor idiot. 

[As he is stroking his hair and rearrang- 
ing his tie he talks in pantomime at him- 



1^2 A Proposal Under Difficulties 

se/f in the glass. In a moment Jennie 
ushers Mr. Jack Barlow into the room. 
Jennie. Miss Andrews will be down in a 
minute, sir. 

[Barlow takes arm-chair and sits gazing 
ahead of him. Neither he nor Yardsley 
perceives the other. Jennie tiptoes to 
one side, and, tossing a kiss at Yardsley, 
retires. 
Barlow. Now for it. I shall leave this 
house to-day the happiest or the most miser- 
able man in creation, and I rather think the 
odds are in my favor. Why shouldn't they 
be ? Egad ! I can very well understand how 
a woman could admire me. I admire myself, 
rather. I confess candidly that I do not con- 
sider myself half bad, and Dorothy has always 
seemed to feel that way herself. In fact, the 
other night in the Perkinses conservatory 
she seemed to be quite ready for a proposal. 
I'd have done it then and there if it hadn't^ 
been for that confounded Bob Yardsley — 

Yardsley {turning sharply about). Eh .i* 
Somebody spoke my name. A man, too. 
Great heavens! I hope Jennie's friend Hicks 



A Proposal Under Difficulties 133 

isn't here. I don't want to have a scene with 
Hicks. {Discovering Barlow.) Oh — ah — why 
—hullo, Barlow ! You here } 

Barlow {impatiently, aside). Hang it ! Yards- 
ley's here too ! The man's always turning 
up when he's not wanted. {Aloud) Ah ! 
why, Bob, how are you ? What 're you doing 
here.-* 

Yardsley, What do you suppose — tuning 
the piano? I'm here because I want to be. 
And you .'* 
Barlow. For the same reason that you are. 
Yardsley {aside). Gad ! I hope not. {Aloud.) 
Indeed? The great mind act again? Run 
in the same channel, and all that ? Glad to 
see you. {Aside.) May the saints forgive 
me that fib ! But this fellow must be got rid 
of. 

Barlow {embarrassed). So'm I. Always glad 
to see myself — I mean you — anywhere. Won't 
you sit down ? 

Yardsley. Thanks. Very kind of you, I'm 
sure. {Aside.) He seems very much at home. 
Won't I sit down ?— as if he'd inherited the 
chairs! Humph! I'll show him. 



134 A Proposal Under Difficulties 

Barlow. What say ? 

Yardsley. I— ah— oh, I was merely remark- 
ing that I thought it was rather pleasant out 

to-day. 

Barlow. Yes, almost too fine to be shut up 
in-doors. Why aren't you driving, or— or play- 
ing golf, or-ah-or being out-doors some- 
where? You need exercise, old man; you 
look a little pale. {Aside:) I must get him 
away from here somehow. Deuced awkward 
having another fellow about when you mean 
to propose to a woman. 

Yardsley. Oh, I'm well enough ! 
Barlow {solicitously). You don't look it-by 
Jove you don't. {Suddenly inspired.) No, 
you don't. Bob. You overestimate your 
strength. It's very wrong to overestimate 
one's strength. People - ah - people have 
died of it. Why, I'll bet you a hat you can't 
start now and walk up to Central Park and 
back in an hour. Come. I'll time you. {Rises 
and takes out watch) It is now four ten. I'll 
wager you can't get back here before five 
thirty. Eh? Let me get your hat. 

[Starts for door. 



A Proposal Under Difficulties 135 



Yardsley i^with a laugh). Oh no ; I don't bet 
— after four. But I say, did you see Billie 
Wilkins? 
Barlow, {returning in despair^. Nope. 

Yardsley {aside). 
Now for a bit of 
strategy. {Aloud.) 
He was looking 
for you at the club. 
{Aside.) Splendid 
lie! {Aloud.) Had 
seats for the — ah 
— the Metropoli- 
tan to-night. Said 
he was looking for 
you. Wants you 
to go with him. 
{Aside.) That ought to start him along. 

Barlow. I'll go with him. 

Yardsley {eagerly). Well, you'd better let 
him know at once, then. Better run around 
there and catch him while there's time. He 
said if he didn't see you before half-past four 
he'd get Tom Parker to go. Fine show to- 
night. Wouldn't lose the opportunity if I 




I'LL TIME YOU 



136 A Proposal Under Difficulties 

were you. {Looking at his watch) You'll 
just about have time to do it now if you start 
at once. 

{Grasps Barlow by arm, and tries to force 

hitn out. Barlow holds back, and is about 

to re?nonstrate, when Dorothy enters. 

Both men rush to greet her ; Yardsley 

catches her left hand, Barlow her right. 

Dorothy {slightly embarrassed). Why, how 

do you do — this is an unexpected pleasure — 

both of you } Excuse 

my left hand, Mr. 

Yardsley ; I should 

have given you the 

other if — if you'd 

given me time. 

Yardsley. Don't 
mention it, I pray. 
The unexpectedness 
is wholly mine. Miss 
Andrews — I mean — 
ah — the pleasure is — 
Barlow. Wholly mine. 

Dorothy {withdrawing her hands froin both 
and sitting down). I haven't seen either of you 




START AT once" 



A Proposal Under Difficulties 137 
since the Perkinses dance. Wasn't it a charm- 
ing affair ? 

Yardsley. Delightful. I-ah-I didn't know 

that the Perkinses— 

Barlow {interrupting). It was a good deal 
of a crush, though. As Mrs. Van Darling sa.d 
to me, •' You always meet—" 

Yardsley. It's a pity Perkins isn't more of a 
society man. though, don't you think ? 

Dorothy. O, I don't know. I've always found 
him very pleasant. He is so sincere. 

Bartow. Isn't he. though? He looked bored 
to death all through the dance. 

Yardsley. I thought so too. I was watch- 
ing him while you were talking to him. Bar- 
low, and such a look of ennui I never saw on 
a man's face. 

Barlow. Humph! 

Dorothy. Are you going to Mrs. Van Dar- 

ling's dinner? 

Barlow. Yes; I received my bid last night. 

You? 

Dorothy. Oh yes ! 

Yardsley {gloomily). I can't go very well. 
I'm_ah— engaged for Tuesday. 



138 A Proposal Under Difficulties 

Barlow. Well, I hope you've let Mrs. Van 
Darling know. She's a stickler for prompt- 
ness in accepting or declining her invitations. 
If you haven't, I'll tell her for you. I'm to see 
her to-night, 

Yardsley. Oh no! Never mind. I'll — I'll 
attend to it. 

Barlow. Oh, of course. But it's just as well 
she should know in advance. You might for- 
get it, you know. I'll tell her; it's no trouble 
to me. 

Dorothy. Of course not, and she can get 
some one to take your place. 

Yardsley {desperately). Oh, don't say any- 
thing about it. Fact is, she — ah — she hasn't 
invited me. 

Barlow. Ah ! {Aside?) I knew that all along. 
Oh, but I'm clever! 

Dorothy {hastily, to relieve Yardsley's e?nbar- 
rassmeftt). Have you seen Irving, Mr. Yardsley ? 

Yardsley. Yes. 

Barlow {suspiciously). What in ? I haven't 
seen you at any of the first nights. 

Yardsley {with a grin). In the grill-room at 
the Players. 



A Proposal Under Difficulties 139 

Barlow {aside). Bah ! 

Dorothy {laughing). You are so bright, Mr. 
Yardsley. 

Barlow {forcing a latigh). Ha, ha, ha ! Why, 
yes — very clever that. It ought to have a 
Gibson picture over it, that joke. It would 
help it. Those Gibson pictures are fine, I 
think. Carry any kind of joke, eh } 

Yardsley. Yes, they frequently do. 

Dorothy. I'm so glad you both like Gibson, 
for I just dote on him. I have one of his orig- 
inals in my portfolio. I'll get it if you'd like 
to see it. 

S^She rises and goes to the corner of the 
room, where there sta?tds a portfolio-case. 

Yardsley {aside). What a bore Barlow is ! 
Hang him ! I must get rid of him somehow. 
[Barlow meanwhile is assisting Dorothy. 

Yardsley {looking around at the others). Jove ! 
he's off in the corner with her. Can't allow 
that, for the fact is Barlow's just a bit dan- 
gerous — to me. 

Dorothy {rujnmaging through portfolio). 
Why, it was here — 

Barlow. Maybe it's in this other portfolio. 



140 A Proposal Under Ditficulties 

Yardsley {joimng them). Yes, maybe it is. 
That's a good idea. If it isn't in one portfolio 
maybe it's in another. Clever thought ! I 
may be bright, Miss Andrews, but you must 
have observed that Barlow is thoughtful. 

Dorothy {with a glance at Barlow). Yes, Mr. 
Yardsley, I have noticed the latter. 

Barlow. Tee-hee ! that's one on you. Bob. 
Yardsley {obtuse). Ha, ha ! Yes. Why, of 
course ! Ha, ha, ha ! For repartee I have 
always said — polite repartee, of course — Miss 
Andrews is — {Aside?) Now what the dickens 
did she mean by that ? 

Dorothy. I can't find it here. Let — me think. 
Where — can — it — be } 

Barlow {striking thoughtful attitude). Yes, 
where can it be } Let me do your thinking 
for you, Miss Dorothy. {Then softly to her.) 
Always ! 

Yardsley {mocking Barlow). Yes ! Let 77te 
think ! {Points his finger at his forehead and 
assumes tragic attitude. Then stalks to the 
front of stage in mangier of burlesque Ham- 
let.) Come, thought, come. Shed the glory of 
thy greatness full on me, and thus confound 



A Proposal Under Difficulties 141 
mine enemies. Where the deuce is that Gib- 
son ? . 

Dorothy. Oh, I remember. It's up-stairs. 1 
took it up with me last night. I'll ring for 
Jennie, and have her get it. 

Yardsley {aside, afidzn coftsternaiion). Jennie . 
Oh, thunder! I'd forgotten her. I do hope 
she remembers not to forget herself. 
Barlow. What say ? 

Yardsley. Nothing; only-ah-only that I 
thought it was very— very pleasant out. 
Barlow. That's what you said before. 
Yardsley {indignantly). Well, what of it? 
It's the truth. If you don't believe it, go out- 
side and see for yourself. 

[Jennie appears at the door in respo7ise to 
Dorothy's ring. She glances demurely 
at Yardsley, who tries to ignore her 
presence. 
Dorothy. Jennie, go up to my room and look 
on the table in the corner, and bring me down 
the portfolio you will find there. The large 
brown one that belongs in the stand over there. 
Jennie {dazed). Yessum. And shall 1 be 
bringin' lemons with it? 



142 A Proposal Under Difficulties 

Dorothy. Lemons, Jennie? 

Jennie. You always does have lemons with 
your tea, mum. 

Dorothy. I didn't mention tea. I want you 
to get my portfolio from up-stairs. It is on 
the table in the corner of my room. 

{Looks at Jennie in surprise. 

Jennie. Oh, excuse me, mum. I didn't hear 
straight. 

{She casts a languishing glance at Yards- 
ley and disappears. 

Yardsley {noting the glajice, presumably 
aside). Confound that Jennie ! 

Barlow {overhearing Yardsley). What's 
that? Confound that Jennie? Why say con- 
found that Jennie ? Why do you wish Jennie 
to be confounded ? 

Yardsley {nervoicsly). I didn't say that. I — 
ah — I merely said that — that Jennie appeared 
to be — ah — confounded. 

Dorothy. She certainly is confused. I can- 
5i'|not understand it at all. Ordinarily I have 
rather envied Jennie her composure. 

Yardsley. Oh, I suppose— it's — it's — it's nat- 
ural for a young girl — a servant — sometimes 



A Proposal Under Difficulties 143 

to lose her — equipoise, as it were, on occa- 
sions. If we lose ours at times, why not Jen- 
nie? Eh? Huh? 

Barlow. Certainly. 

Yardsley. Of course — ha — trained servants 
are hard to get these days, anyhow. Educated 
people — ah — go into other professions, such 
as law, and — ah — the ministry — and — 

Dorothy. Well, never mind. Let's talk of 
something more interesting than Jennie. Go- 
ing to the Chrysanthemum Show, Mr. Barlow ? 

Bar loin. I am ; wouldn't miss it for the 
world. Do you know, really now, the chrys- 
anthemum, in my opinion, is the most human- 
looking flower we have. The rose is too 
beautiful, too perfect, for me. The chrysan- 
themum, on the other hand — 

Yardsley {interrupting). Looks so like a 
football-player's head it appeals to your sym- 
pathies? Well, perhaps you are right. I 
never thought of it in that light before, but— 

Dorothy [smiling). Nor I ; but now that you 
mention it, it does look that way, doesn't it ? 

Barlow {not wishing to disagree with Dor- 
othy). Very much. Droll idea, though. Just 



144 A Proposal Under Difficulties 

like Bob, eh ? Very, very droll. Bob's always 
dro — 

Yardsley {interrtiptijig). When T see a man 
walking down the Avenue with a chrysanthe- 
mum in his button-hole, I always think of a 
wild Indian wearing a scalp for decorative 
purposes. 

[Barlow and Dorothy laugh at this, and 
during their mirth Jennie enters with 
the portfolio. She hajtds it to Dorothy. 
Dorothy rests it on the arm of her chair, 
and Barlow looki^ig over one shoulder, 
she goes through it. Jennie in passing 
out throws another kiss to Yardsley. 
Yardsley {under his breath, statnpiitg his 
foot). Awgh ! 

Barlow. What say ? 

[Dorothy looks up, surprised. 

Yardsley. I — I didn't say anything. My — 

ah — my shoe had a piece of — ah — 

Barlow. Oh, say lint, and be done with it. 

Yardsley {^relieved, and tha?ikful for the 

suggestio7i). Why, how did you know .^ It 

did, you know. Had a piece of lint on it, 

and I tried to get it of! by stamping, that's all. 



A Proposal Under Difficulties 145 

Dorothy. Ah, here it is. 

Yardsley. What ? The lint ? 

Barlow. Ho ! Is the world nothing but lint 
to you ? Of course not— the Gibson. Charm- 
ing, isn't it, Miss Dorothv ? 




"'charming, isn't it?'" 

Dorothy {holding the picture up). Fine. 
Just look at that girl. Isn't she pretty ? 

Barlow. Very. 

Dorothy. And such style, too. 

Yardsley {looking over Dorothy's other shoul- 
der). Yes, very pretty, and lots of style. {Soft- 
ly.) Very — like some one — some one I know. 



146 A Proposal Under Difficulties 

Barlow {overhearing). I think so myself, 
Yardsley. It's exactly like Josie Wilkins. 
By-the-way— ah — how is that little affair com- 
ing along, Bob? 

Dorothy {interested). What ! You don't 
mean to say — Why, Mister Yardsley ! 

Yardsley {with a vetiomous glance at Barlow). 
Nonsense. Nothing in it. Mere invention 
of Barlow's. He's a regular Edison in his 
own way. 

[Dorothy looks inquiringly at Barlow. 

Barlow {to Yardsley). Oh, don't be so sly 
about it, old fellow ! Everybody knows. 

Yardsley. But I tell you there's nothing in 
it. I — I have different ideas entirely, and you 
— you know it — or, if you don't, you will 
shortly. 

Dorothy. Oh ! Then it's some one else, Mr. 
Yardsley.^ Well, now I am interested. Let's 
have a little confidential talk together. Tell 
zis, Mr. Yardsley, tell Mr. Barlow and me, and 
maybe — I can't say for certain, of course — but 
maybe we can help you. 

Barlow {gleef telly rubbing his hands). Yes, old 
man ; certainly. Maybe we — we can help you. 



A Proposal Under Difficulties 147 

Yardsley {desperately). You can help me, 
both of you— but— but I can't very well tell 
you how. 

Barlow. I'm willing to do all I can for you, 
my dear Bob. If you will only tell us her 
name I'll even go so far as to call, in your be- 
half, and propose for you. 

Yardsley. Oh, thanks. You are very kind. 
Dorothy. I think so too, Mr. Barlow. You 
are almost too kind, it seems to me. 

Yardsley. Oh no ; not too kind. Miss An- 
drews. Barlow simply realizes that one who 
has proposed marriage to young girls as fre- 
quently as he has knows how the thing is 
done, and he wishes to give me the benefit of 
his experience. {Aside:) That's a facer for 
Barlow. 

Barlow. Ha, ha, ha ! Another joke, I sup- 
pose. You see, my dear Bob, that I am duly 
appreciative. I laugh. Ha, ha, ha! But I 
must say I laugh with some uncertainty. I 
don't know whether you intended that for a 
joke or for a staggerer. You should provide 
your conversation with a series of printed in- 
structions for the listener. Get a lot of cards. 



148 A Proposal Under Difficulties 

and have printed on one, "Please laugh"; 
on another, " Please stagger " ; on another, 
" Kindly appear confused." Then when you 
mean to be jocose hand over the laughter 
card, and so on. Shall I stagger ? 

Do7'othy. I think that Mr. Yardsley meant 
that for a joke. Didn't you, Mr. Yardsley.^ 

Yardsley. Why, certainly. Of course. I 
don't really believe Barlow ever had sand 
enough to propose to any one. Did you, Jack } 

Barlow {iJidignant). Well, I rather think I 
have. 

Dorothy. Ho, ho! Then you are an experi- 
enced proposer, Mr. Barlow ? 

Barlow {confused). Why — er — well — um — I 
didn't exactly mean that, you know. I meant 
that — ah — if it ever came to the — er — the 
test, I think I could — I'd have sand enough, 
as Yardsley puts it, to do the thing properly, 
and without making a — ah — a Yardsley of 
myself. 

Yardsley {bristling up). Now what do you 
mean by that 1 

Dorothy. I think you are both of you horrid 
this afternoon.. You are so quarrelsome. Do 



A Proposal Under Difficulties 149 

you two always quarrel, or is this merely a 
little afternoon's diversion got up for my es- 
pecial benefit ? 

Barlow {with dignity). I never quarrel. 
Yardsley. Nor I. I simply differ sometimes, 
that's all. I never had an unpleasant word 
with Jack in my life. Did I, Jack ? 

Barlow. Never. I always avoid a fracas, 
however great the provocation. 

Dorothy {desperately). Then let us have a cup 
of tea together and be more sociable. I have 
always noticed that tea promotes sociability 
—haven't you, Mr. Yardsley ? 

Yardsley. Always. {Aside?) Among women. 
Barlow. What say ? 

[ Dorothy rises and rings the bell for Jennie. 
Yardsley. I say that I am very fond of tea. 
Barlow. So am I — here. 

yRises and looks at pictures. Yardsley 
meanwhile sits in moody silence. 
Dorothy {returning). You seem to have 
something on your mind, Mr. Yardsley. I 
never knew you to be so solemn before. 

Yardsley. 1 have something on my mind, 
Miss Dorothy. It's— 



i^o A Proposal Under Difficulties 

Barlow {coming forward'). Wise man, cold 
weather like this. It would be terrible if you 
let your mind go out in cold weather with- 
out anything on it. Might catch cold in your 
idea. 

Dorothy. I wonder why Jennie doesn't come } 
I shall have to ring again. 

{^Pushes electric button again. 

Yardsley {with an effort at brilliajtce). The 
kitchen belle doesn't seem to work. 

Dorothy. Ordinarily she does, but she seems 
to be upset by something this afternoon. I'm 
afraid she's in love. If you will excuse me a 
moment I will go and prepare the tea myself. 

Barlow. Do ; good ! Then we shall not need 
the sugar. 

Yardsley. You might omit the spoons too, 
after a remark like that, Miss Dorothy. 

Dorothy. We'll omit Mr, Barlow's spoon. 
I'll bring some for you and me. [She goes out. 
Yardsley {with a laugh). That's one on you, 
Barlow. But I say, old man {taking out his 
watch and snapping the cover to three or four 
times), it's getting very late — after five now. 
If you want to go with Billy Wilkins you'd 



A Proposal Under Difficulties 151 

better take up your hat and walk. I'll say 
good-bye to Miss Andrews for you. 

Barhnu. Thanks. Too late now. You said 
Billie wouldn't wait after four thirty. 

Yardshy. Did I say four thirty.^ I meant 
five thirty. Anyhow, Billie isn't over-prompt. 
Better go. 

Barlow. You seem mighty anxious to get 
rid of me. 

Yardsley. I } Not at all, my dear boy — 
not at all. I'm very, very fond of you, but I 
thought you'd prefer opera to me. Don't you 
see ? That's where my modesty comes in. 
You're so fond of a good chat I thought you'd 
want to go to-night. Wilkins has a box. 

Barlow. You said seats a little while ago. 
Yardsley. Of course I did. And why not ? 
There are seats in boxes. Didn't you know 
that? 

Barlow. Look here, Yardsley, what's up, any- 
how.? You've been deuced queer to-day. 
What are you after? 

Yardsley {tragically). Shall I confide in you ? 
Can I, with a sense of confidence that you will 
not betray me ? 



1^2 A Proposal Under Difficulties 

Barlow {eagerly). Yes, Bob. Goon. What 
is it.'' I'll never give you away, and 1 may be 
able to give you some good advice. 

Yardsley. I am here to — to— to rob the 
house ! Business has been bad, and one must 
live. [Barlow looks at him in disgust. 





what's up, anyhow?'" 



Yardsley {inockingly). You have my secret, 
John Barlow. Remember that it was wrung 
from me in confidence. You must not betray 
me. Turn your back w^hile I surreptitiously 
remove the piano and the gas-fixtures, won't 
you ? 



A Proposal Under Difficulties 153 

Barlow {looking at him thoughtfully). Yards- 
ley, I have done you an injustice. 

Yardsley. Indeed ? 

Barlow. Yes. Some one claimed, at the 
club, the other day, that you were the biggest 
donkey in existence, and I denied it. I was 
wrong, old man, I was wrong, and I apologize. 
You are. 

Yardsley. You are too modest. Jack. You 
forget — yourself. 

Barlow. Well, perhaps I do ; but I've noth- 
ing to conceal, and you have. You've been 
behaving in a most incomprehensible fashion 
this afternoon, as if you owned the house. 

Yardsley. Well, what of it ? Do you own it? 

Barlow. No, I don't, but — 

Yardsley. But you hope to. Well, I have 
no such mercenary motive. I'm not after 
the house. 

Barlow {bristling up). After the house } Mer- 
cenary motive.^ I demand an explanation of 
those words. What do you mean ? 

Yardsley. I mean this, Jack Barlow : I mean 
that I am here for — for my own reasons ; but 
you — you have come here for the purpose of — 



154 A Proposal Under Difficulties 

Dorothy enters with a tray, upon which are 
the tea things. 

Barlow (about to retort to Yardsley, perceiv- 
ing Dorothy). Ah ! Let me assist you. 

Dorothy. Thank you so much. I really be- 
lieve I never needed help more. {She deliv- 
ers the tray to Barlow, who sets it on the table. 
Dorothy, exhausted, drops into a chair.) Fan 
me — quick — or I shall faint. I've — I've had an 
awful time, and I really don't know what to do ! 

Barlow and Yardsley {together). Why, what's 
the matter? 

Yardsley. I hope the house isn't on fire.^ 

Barlow. Or that you haven't been robbed } 

Dorothy. No, no ; nothing like that. It's — 
it's about Jennie. 

Yardsley {7iervously). Jennie? Wha — wha — 
what's the matter with Jennie? 

Dorothy. I only wish I knew. I — 

Yardsley {aside). I'm glad you don't. 

Barlow. What say ? 

Yardsley. I didn't say anything. Why 
should I say anything? I haven't anything 
to say. If people who had nothing to say 
would not insist upon talking, you'd be — 



A Proposal Under Difficulties 135 

Dorothy. I heard the poor girl weeping 
down-stairs, and when I went to the dumb- 
waiter to ask her what was the matter, I heard 
— I heard a man's voice. 

Yards ley, Man's voice ? 

Barlow. Man's voice is what Miss Andrews 
said. 

Dorothy. Yes ; it was Hicks, our coachman, 
and he was dreadfully angry about something. 

Yardsley {sinking mto chair). Good Lord ! 
Hicks ! Angry ! At — something ! 

Dorothy. He was threatening to kill some- 
body. 

Yardsley. This grows worse and worse ! 
Threatening to kill somebody ! D-did-did 
you o-over-overhear huh-huh-whom he was 
going to kuk-kill ? 

Barlow. What's the matter with you. Yards- 
ley.? Are you going to die of fright, or have 
you suddenly caught a chill? 

Dorothy. Oh, I hope not ! Don't die here, 
anyhow, Mr. Yardsley. If you must die, please 
go home and die. I couldn't stand another 
shock to-day. Why, really, I was nearly fright- 
ened to death, I. don't know now but what 



156 A Proposal Under Difficulties 

I ought to send for the police, Hicks was so 
violent. 

Barlow. Perhaps she and Hicks have had 
a lovers' quarrel. 

Yardsley. Very likely ; very likely indeed. 
I think that is no doubt the explanation of 
the whole trouble. Lovers will quarrel. They 
were engaged, you know. 

Dorothy {surprised). No, I didn't know it. 
Were they.^ Who told you } 

Yardsley (discovering his mistake). Why — 
er — wasn't it you said so. Miss Dorothy.? Or 
you, Barlow.? 

Barlow. I have not the honor of the young 
woman's confidence, and so could not have 
given you the information. 

Dorothy. I didn't know it, so how could I 
have told you } 

Yardsley {desperately). Then I must have 
dreamed it. I do have the queerest dreams 
sometimes, but there's nothing strange about 
this one, anyhow. Parlor-maids frequently do 
— er — become engaged to coachmen and but- 
lers and that sort of thing. It isn't a rare 
occurrence at all. If I'd said she was en- 



A Proposal Under Difficulties 157 

gaged to Billie Wilkins. or to — to Barlow 

here — 

Barlow. Or to yourself. 
Yardsley. Sir? What do you mean to in- 
sinuate ? That I am engaged to Jennie ? 
Barlow. I never said so. 
Dorothy. Oh dear, let us have the tea. 
You quarrelsome men are just wearing me 
out. Mr. Barlow, do you want cream in 
yours ? 

Barlow. If you please; and one lump of 
sugar. (Doxo\\vj pours it out?) Thanks. 
Dorothy. Mr. Yardsley ? 
Yardsley. Just a little, Miss Andrews. No 
cream, and no sugar. 

[Dorothy prepares a cup for Yardsley. 
He is about to take it when— 
Dorothy. Well. I declare ! Ifs nothing but 
hot water ! I forgot the tea entirely ! 

Barlow {with a laugh). Oh, never mind. Hot 
water is good for dyspepsia. 

[ With a significant look at Yardsley. 

Yardsley. It depends on how you get it, 

Mr. Barlow. I've known men who've got 

dyspepsia from living in hot water too much. 



158 A Proposal Under Difficulties 

[As Y ardsley s/>ea^s the portiere is violently 

chitchedfrom without, ««</ Jennie's head 

is thrust i?tto the room. No one observes 

her. 

Barlow. Well, my cup is very satisfactory 

to me, Miss Dorothy. Fact is, I've always 

been fond of cambric tea, and this is just 

right. 

Yards ley {patronizingly). It is good for 
children. 

Jennie {trying to attract Yardsley's atten- 
tion). Pst! 

Yardsley. My mamma lets me have it Sun- 
day nights. 

Dorothy. Ha, ha, ha ! 

Barlow. Another joke .^ Good. Let me 
enjoy it too. Hee, Hee ! 
Jennie. Pst ! 

[Barlow looks around ; Jennie hastily with- 
draws her head. 
Barlow. I didn't know you had steam heat 
in this house. 

Dorothy. We haven't. What put such an 
idea as that into your head .^ 
Barlow. Why, I thought I heard the hissing 



A Proposal Under Difficulties 159 

of steam, the click of a radiator, or something 
of that sort back by the door. 

Yardsley. Maybe the house is haunted. 
Dorothy. 1 fancy it was your imagination ; 
or perhaps it was the wind blowing through 
the hall. The pantry window is open. 

Barlow. I guess maybe that's it. How fine 
it must be in the country now ! 

[Jennie /^/6<?j- her head in through the por- 
tieres again, and follows it with her arm 
and hand, in which is a feather duster, 
which she waves wildly i7i an endeavor 
to attract Yardsley's attention. 
Dorothy. Divine. I should so love to be out 
of town still. It seems to me people always 
make a great mistake returning to the city so 
early in the fall. The country is really at its 
best at this time of year. 

[Yardsley turns half around, a7id is about 
to speak, when he catches sight of the now 
almost hysterical ]G^nmQ and her feather 
duster. 
Barlow. Yes ; I think so too. I was at Len- 
ox last week, and the foliage was gorgeous. 
Yardsley {feeling that he must say something). 



i6o A Proposal Under Difficulties 

Yes. I suppose all the feathers on the maple- 
trees are turning red by this time. 

Dorothy. Feathers, Mr. Yardsley } 

Barlow. Feathers.^ 

Yardsley (with a furtive glajice at Jennie). 
Ha, ha ! What an absurd slip ! Did I say 
feathers } I meant — I meant leaves, of course. 
All the leaves on the dusters are turning. 

Barlow. I don't believe you know what you 
do mean. Who ever heard of leaves on dust- 
ers? What are dusters? Do you know, Miss 
Dorothy ? 

\^As he turns to Miss Andrews, Yardsley 
tries to wave Jennie away. She beckons 
with her arms more wildly than ever, 
and Yardsley silently speaks the words, 
" Go away." 

Dorothy. I'm sure I don't know of any tree 
by that name, but then I'm not a — not a what ? 

Yardsley {with a forced laugh). Treeologist. 

Dorothy. What are dusters, Mr. Yardsley? 

Barlow. Yes, old man, tell us. I'm anxious 
to find out myself. 

Yardsley {aside). So am I. What the deuce 
are dusters, for this occasion only ? {Aloud.') 



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A Proposal Under Difficulties i6i 

What ? Never heard of dusters ? Ho ! Why, 
dear me, where have you been all your lives? 
{Aside.) Must gain time to think up what 
dusters are. {Aloud) Why, they're as old as 
the hills. 

Barlow. That may be, but I can't say I think 
your description is at all definite. 

Dorothy. Do they look like maples.'* 

Yardsley (with an angry wave of his arms 
towards Jennie). Something — in fact, very 
much. They're exactly like them. You can 
hardly tell them from oaks. 

Barlow. Oaks.'' 

Yardsley. I said oaks. Oaks ! O-A-K-S ! 

Barlow. But oaks aren't like maples. 

Yardsley. Well, who said they were } We 
were talking about oaks — and — er — and dust- 
ers. We — er — we used to have a row of them 
in front of our old house at — {Aside) Now 
where the deuce did we have the old house .^ 
Never had one, but we must for the sake of 
the present situation. {Aloud) Up at — at — 
Bryn-Mawr — or at — Troy, or some such place, 
and — at — they kept the — the dust of the 
highway from getting into the house. {With 



1 62 A Proposal Under Difficulties 



a sigh of relief.) And so, you see, they were 
called dusters. Thought every one knew that. 
YAs Y2iXdi%\^y fifiishes, Jennie loses her bal- 
ance and falls headlong into the room. 
Dorothy {starti?ig up hastily). Why, Jennie ! 
Yardsley ( staggering 
into chair). That settles 
it. It's all up with me. 
[Jennie sobs, and, ris- 
ing, rushes to Yards- 
ley's side. 
Jennie. Save yourself ; 
he's going to kill you ! 

Dorothy. ]Qnn\e.\ What 
is the meaning of this? 
Mr. Yardsley — can — can 
you shed any light on 
this mystery .'' 
Yardsley {pulling himself together with a 
great effort). \} I assure you I can't. Miss 
Andrews. How could I } All I know is that 
somebody is — is going to kill me, though for 
what I haven't the slightest idea. 

Je7inie {itidignatitly). Eh } What ! Why, Mr. 
Yardsley — Bob ! 




WHY, Jennie!' 



A Proposal Under Difficulties 163 

Barlow. Bob? 

Dorothy. Jennie! Bob? 

Yardsley. Don't you call me Bob. 

Jenftze. It's Hicks. \_Biirsts out crymg. 

Barlow. Hicks? 

Dorothy. Jennie, Hicks isn't Bob. His name 
is George. 

Yardsley {in a despairing rage). Hicks be — 

Dorothy. Mr. Yardsley ! 

Yardsley {pulling hijnself together again). 
Bobbed. Hicks be Bobbed. That's what I 
was going to say. 

Dorothy. What on earth does this all mean? 
I must have an explanation, Jennie. What 
have you to say for yourself ? 
Jennie. Why, I — 

Yardsley. I tell you it isn't true. She's 
made it up out of whole cloth. 

Barlow. What isn't true? She hasn't said 
anything yet. 

Yardsley {desperately). 1 refer to what she's 
going to say. I'm a — a — I'm a mind-reader, 
and I see it all as plain as day. 

Dorothy. I can best judge of the truth of 
Jennie's words when she has spoken them, 



164 A Proposal Under Difficulties 

Mr. Yardsley. Jennie, you may explain, if 
*you can. What do you mean by Hicks kill- 
ing Mr. Yardsley, and why do you presume to 
call Mr. Yardsley by his first name ? 

Yardsley {aside). Heigho ! My goose is 
cooked. 

Barlow. I fancy you wish you had taken 
that walk I suggested now. 

Yardsley. You always were a good deal of 
a fancier. 

Jennie. I hardly knows how to begin, Miss 
Dorothy. I — I'm so flabbergasted by all 
that's happened this afternoon, mum, that I 
can't get my thoughts straight, mum. 

Dorothy. Never mind getting your thoughts 
straight, Jennie. I do not want fiction. I 
want the truth. 

Jennie. Well, mum, when a fine gentleman 
like Mr. Yardsley asks — 

Yardsley. I tell you it isn't so. 

Jemtie. Indeed he did, mum. 

Dorothy {impatiently'). Did what ? 

Jennie. Axed me to marry him, mum. 

Dorothy. Mr. Yardsley — asked — you — to — 
to marry him.^ [Barlow whistles. 



A Proposal Under Difficulties 165 

Jemiie {burst mg into tears again). Yes, mum, 
he did, mum, right here in this room. He got 
down on his knees to me on that Proossian 
rug before the sofa, mum. I was standin' 
behind the sofa, havin' just come in to tell 
him as how you'd be down shortly. He was 
standin' before the lookin'-glass lookin' at 
himself, an' when I come in he turns around 
and goes down on his knees and says such an 
importunity may not occur again, mum ; I've 
loved you very long; and then he recited 
some pottery, mum, and said would I be his 
wife. 

Yardsley {desperately). Let me explain. 

Dorothy. Wait, Mr, Yardsley ; your turn will 
come in a moment. 

Barlow. Yes, it '11 be here, my boy ; don't 
fret about that. Take all the time you need 
to make it a good one. Gad, if this doesn't 
strain your imagination, nothing will. 

Dorothy. Go on, Jennie. Then what hap- 
pened } 

Yardsley {with a7i injured expression). Do 
you expect me to stand here. Miss Andrews, 
and hear this girl's horrible story ? 



7 



1 66 A Proposal Under Difficulties 

Barlow. Then you know the story, do you, 
Yardsley? It's horrible, and you are inno- 
cent. My ! you are a mind-reader with a 
vengeance. 

Dorothy. Don't mind what these gentlemen 
say, Jennie, but go on. 

[Yardsley sinks into the artn-chair. Bar- 
low chuckles ; Miss Andrews ^/^^z^^j in- 
dignantly at hint. 

Dorothy. Pardon me, Mr. Barlow. If there 
is any humor in the situation, I fail to see it. 

Barlow {seeing his error). Nor, indeed, do I. 
I was not— ah — laughing from mirth. That 
chuckle was hysterics. Miss Dorothy, I assure 
you. There are some laughs that can hardly 
be differentiated from sobs. 

Jennie. I was all took in a heap, mum, to 
think of a fine gentleman like Mr. Yardsley 
proposing to me, mum, and I says the same. 
Says I, " Oh, Mr. Yardsley, this is so suddent 
like," whereat he looks up with a countenance 
so full o' pain that I hadn't the heart to re- 
fuse him ; so, fergettin' Hicks for the moment, 
I says, kind of soft like, certingly, sir. It ain't 
for the likes o' me to say no to the likes o' him. 



( 



A Proposal Under Difficulties 167 

Ya7'dsley. Then you said you were engaged 
to Hicks. You know you did, Jennie. 

Barlow. Ah ! Then you admit the pro- 
posal } 

Yardsley. Oh Lord ! Worse and worse ! I — 

Dorothy. Jennie has not finished her story. 

Jennie. I did say as how I was engaged to 
Hicks, but I thought he would let me off; and 
Mr. Yardsley looked glad when I said that, 
and said he'd make it all right with Hicks. 

Yardsley. What } I } Jennie O'Brien, or 
whatever your horrible name is, do you mean 
to say that I said I'd make it all right with 
Hicks.? 

Jennie. Not in them words, Mr. Yardsley; 
but you did say as how you'd see him your- 
self and give him a present. You did indeed, 
Mr. Yardsley, as you was a-standin' on that 
there Proossian rug. 

Dorothy. Did you, Mr. Yardsley? 

[Yardsley buries his face iti his hands 
and groans. 

Barlow. Not so ready with your explana- 
tions now, eh } 

Dorothy. Mr. Barlow, really I must ask you 



1 68 A Proposal Under Difficulties 

not to interfere. Did you say that, Mr. Yards- 
ley.? 

Yardsley. I did, but — 

Dorothy {frigidly). Go on, Jennie. 
Jennie. Just then the front-door bell rings 
and Mr. Barlow comes, and there wasn't no 
more importunity for me to speak ; but when 
I got down-stairs into the kitchen, mum, Mr. 
Hicks he comes in, an' {^sobs) — an' I breaks 
with him. 

Yardsley. You've broken with Hicks for 
me.? 

Jen7iie. Yes, I have— but I wouldn't never 
have done it if I'd known — boo-hoo — as how 
you'd behave this way an' deny ever havin' 
said a word. I — I — I 1-lo-love Mr. Hicks, an* 
I — I hate you — and I wish I'd let him come 
up and kill you, as he said he would. 

Dorothy. Jennie ! Jennie ! be calm ! Where 
is Hicks now.? 

Yardsley. That's so. Where is Hicks? I 
want to see him. 

Jennie. Never fear for that. You'll see him. 
He's layin' for you outside. An' that, Miss 
Dorothy, is why I was a-wavin' at him an' 



A Proposal Under Difficulties 169 

sayin' " pst " to him. I wanted to warn him, 
mum, of his danger, mum, because Hicks is 
very vi'lent, and he told me in so many words 
as how he was a-goin' to do — him — up. 

Barlow. You'd better inform Mr. Hicks, 
Jennie, that Mr. Yardsley is already done up. 

Yardsley. Do me up, eh } Well, I like that. 
I'm not afraid of any coachman in creation as 
long as he's off the box. I'll go see him at 
once. 

Dorothy, No — no — no. Don't, Mr. Yards- 
ley ; don't, I beg of you. I don't want to have 
any scene between you. 

Yardsley {heroically). What if he succeeds.-^ 
I don't care. As Barlow says, I'm done up as 
it is. I don't want to live after this. What's 
the use. Everything's lost. 

Barlow {dryly). Jennie hasn't thrown you 
over yet. 

Je7i7iie {s7iiffi,ng airily). Yes, she has, too. I 
wouldn't marry him now for all the world — 
an' — and I've lost— lost Hicks. ( Weeps) Him 
as was so brave, an' looks so fine in livery ! 

Yardsley. If you'd only give me a chance to 
say something — 



170 A Proposal Under Difficulties 

Barlow. Appears to me you've said too 
much already. 

Dorothy {coldly). I — I don't agree with Mr. 
Barlow. You — you haven't said enough, Mr. 
Yardsley. If you have any explanation to 
make, I'll listen. 

Yardsley {looks up gratefully. Suddenly his 
face brightens. Aside). Gad ! The very thing ! 
I'll tell the exact truth, and if Dorothy has 
half the sense I think she has, I'll get in 
my proposal right under Barlow's very nose. 
{Aloud.) My — my explanation. Miss Andrews, 
is very simple. I — ah — I cannot deny having 
spoken every word that Jennie has charged 
to my account. I did get down on my knees 
on the rug. I did say " divine creature." I 
did not put it strong enough. I should have 
said "divinest of all creatures." 

Dorothy {in remonstrance). Mr„ Yardsley ! 

Barlow {aside). Magnificent bluff ! But why.? 
{Rubs his forehead in a puzzled way.) What 
the deuce is he driving at ? 

Yardsley. Kindly let me finish. I did say 
" I love you." I should have said " I adore 
you ; I worship you." I did say " Will you be 



A Proposal Under Difficulties 171 

my wife ?" and I was going to add, " for if you 
will not, then is light turned into darkness for 
me, and life, which your * yes ' will render ra- 
diantly beautiful, will become dull, colorless, 
an4 not worth the living." That is what I 
was going to say, Miss Andrews — Miss Doro- 
thy — when — when Jennie interrupted me and 
spoke the word I most wish to hear — spoke 
the word " yes " ; but it was not her yes that 
I wished. My words of love were not for 
her. 

Barlow {^perceiving his drift). Ho ! Absurd ! 
Nonsense ! Most unreasonable ! You were 
calling the sofa the divinest of all creatures, I 
suppose, or perhaps asking the — the piano to 
put on its shoes and— elope with you. Pre- 
posterous ! 

Dorothy {softly). Go on, Mr. Yardsley. 

Yardsley. I — I spoke a little while ago about 
sand — courage— when it comes to one's ask- 
ing the woman he loves the greatest of all 
questions. I was boastful. I pretended that 
I had that courage; but — well, I am not as 
brave as I seem. I had come, Miss Dorothy, 
to say to you the words that fell on Jennie's 



172 A Proposal Under Difficulties 

ears, and — and I began to get nervous — stage- 
fright, I suppose it was — and I was foolish 
enough to rehearse what I had to say — to you, 
and to you alone. 

Barlow. Let me speak, Miss Andrews. I — 
Vardslcy. You haven't anything to do with 
the subject in hand, my dear Barlow, not a 
thing. 

Dorothy. Jennie — what — what have you to 
say? 

Jennie. Me? Oh, mum, I hardly knows 
what to say f This is suddenter than the 
other; but. Miss Dorothy, I'd believe him, I 
would, because — I — I think he's tellin' the 
truth, after all, for the. reason that — oh dear — 
for— 

Dorothy. Don't be frightened, Jennie. For 
what reason ? 

Jennie. Well, mum, for the reason that when 
I said "yes," mum, he didn't act like all the 
other gentlemen I've said yes to, and — and 
k — kuk — kiss me. 

Yardsley. That's it ! that's it ! Do you sup- 
pose that if I'd been after Jennie's yes, and 
got it, I'd have let a door -bell and a sofa 



A Proposal Under Difficulties m 
stand between me and-the sealing of the 
''T:1\--0.01. what nonsense t... an 
i3. IVe got to get ahead of th>s fel ow m 

ome way' (^W.) ^^''^ ^f oT 

i„> I came here, Miss Andrews, to tell 

'Tar,si.y ,-nUrpos..,). Vou co- i" where 
you came in betorc-just a httle late-after 
the proposal, as it were. 

^M .,uUs). What a comedy of rro 
has all been! I_I believe you, Mr. Yards 

'^''K..*/0'.ThanU Heaven 1 And-ah-you 
aren't going to say anything more, D-Dor 

othy? 

Dorothy. I'm afraid— 
ylJey. Are you going to maUe n,e go 
through that proposal all over aga.n, now tha 
IVe got myself into so much trouble say,ng.t 

the first time-Dorothy ? 

Z....«;-.No,no. Youneedn-t-youneednt 

speak of it again. 
%../«.(«»■*). Good! Thafs /«. ..«^''. 



174 A Proposal Under Difficulties 

Yardsley. And — then if I — if I needn't say 
it again ? What then ? Can't I have — my 
answer now? Oh, Miss Andrews — 

Dorothy {with downcast eyes, softly). What 
did Jennie say? 

Yardsley {in ecstasy'). Do you mean it ? 

Barlow. I fancy — I fancy I'd better go now, 
Miss— er — Miss Andrews. I — I — have an ap- 
pointment with Mr. Wilkins, and — er — I ob- 
serve that it is getting rather late. 

Yardsley. Don't go yet, Jack. I'm not so 
anxious to be rid of you now. 

Barlozv. I must go — really. 

Yardsley. But I want you to make me one 
promise before you go. 

Dorothy. He'll make it, I'm sure, if I ask 
him. Mr. Yardsley and I want you — want 
you to be our best man. 

Yardsley. That's it, precisely. Eh, Jack ? 

Barlow. Well, yes. I'll be — second-best man. 
The events of the afternoon have shown my 
capacity for that. 

Yardsley, Ah ! 

Barlow. And I'll show my sincerity by 
wearing Bob's hat and coat into the street 



A Proposal Under Difficulties 175 
now and letting the fury of Hicks fall upon 



Jefittie. If you please, Miss Dorothy — I — I 
think I can attend to Mr. Hicks. 

Dorothy. Very well. I think 
that would be better. You 
may go, Jennie. 

[Jennie departs. 
Barlow. Well, good-day. I 
— I've had a very pleasant 
afternoon, Miss — Andrews. 
Thanks for the — the cambric 
tea. 

Dorothy. Good - bye, and 
don't forget. hicks. 

Barlow. I'm afraid — I 
won't. Good-bye, Bob. I congratulate you 
from my heart. I was in hopes that I should 
have the pleasure of having you for a best man 
at my wedding, but — er — there's many a slip, 
you know, and I wish you joy. 

[Yardsley shakes him by the hajid, and Bar- 
low goes out. As he disappears through 
the portieres Y2iYds\eY follows, (^^^d, hold- 
ing the curtain aside, looks after him un- 




176 A Proposal Under Difficulties 

/// the front door is heard closing. Thett 
he turns about. Dorothy looks deinurely 
arowid at him, and as he starts to go to 
her side the curtain falls. 



THE END 



L6 S 20 



